by S W Clarke
I dropped next to him, turning his face upward. He was out cold.
Hercules sat up, wiping his lip. “I haven’t fought like that since I was a young, young man.”
I looked up at him. “You held back.”
“I never hold back.” Hercules didn’t meet my eyes as he stood, brushed himself off. “Allow me to carry him inside.”
Hercules lifted Justin, and the five of us went back into Pythia’s room inside Nymphos. I watched Hercules as he lowered Justin into the bed, observed the care with which he did.
The demigod had held back.
Hercules stepped to my side as Pythia tsked over Justin’s wound and new bruises. Cupid had become her assistant, handing her medical instruments as she requested them.
“What about you?” I asked, reaching up toward Hercules’s battered face.
He caught my hand, holding it with surprising tenderness after that fight in the street. “I have suffered worse. Someday, I’ll tell you about my first labor, in which I slew the Nemean lion.” He turned back to Justin. “Only sheer will kept him upright during that fight. It wasn’t just the wounds—it was something else. What happened to this human?”
I made a face. “It’s a long, long story, and challenging to explain to a man educated in ancient Greece—no offense.”
“You cannot offend me,” he said. “I have endured too much to let words hurt me.”
I gazed up at him. “You endured the death of your family.”
He flinched. “By my own hand, yes.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know such pain—couldn’t conceive of it. Even the thought of losing Justin felt unbearable. “Suffice it to say, Justin’s biology has been scientifically altered. He’s been combined with species and creatures of legend.”
“And his body does not know how to process such things. Nor does his mind.”
I nodded. He’d captured it exactly. “I don’t know if he’ll make it to where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
“To the resistance—a safe house somewhere here in the city.”
His finger found the tip of my chin, lifted and turned it so that our eyes met. “Didn’t I tell you that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you? Either of you?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Regardless of what may exist between us, this”—he gestured between Justin, himself and me—“this binding of fates is more important. Rest easy, Isa.”
We didn’t say anything else. Hercules only found my hand, squeezed my fingers before he unstoppered the vial around his neck and approached Pythia’s side. “May I?”
↔
The oracle eyed the vial in Hercules’s hand. “You would have him drink directly from the River Styx?”
He nodded.
“A mortal?” Was that envy sparking in her eyes? “This gift is beyond him. Moreover, each drop risks his death.”
“We are all mortals now,” Hercules said. “None of us is beyond another.”
She sighed, waved him forward. “It is yours to bestow. But move quickly—he needs every ounce of aid you can offer.”
I came to stand by the bed beside Hercules. “How much are you giving him?”
Hercules held the vial out to me. “All of it, if you will allow me. It is your decision to make.”
I received the vial, the mercury liquid nearly to the top. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that this human has endured too much to survive this night.”
“Woah there, big boy.” Cupid dropped the piece of gauze he’d been cutting. “Are you sure about that? It’ll kill you if it kills him.”
“Absolutely sure,” Hercules said. “I have accepted that my fate is bound with his, and his with mine.”
“All of it?” I whispered, staring at the vial. I knelt by Justin, my hand threading through his hair. “Will it cure him?”
“I don’t know,” Hercules said. “As the oracle says, such a large amount is too potent for a human. Each drop from the River Styx risks his death. But without it, he will not wake again. He cannot survive without this drink from the River Styx—nor can I, by extension. If what you said about his biology is correct, then his body might be able to process this. The water will give him the strength he needs, now and for some time.”
I looked at Pythia. “Is this true? He won’t wake again?”
She nodded. “He is terribly unwell, encantado.”
Justin, I thought, you idiot. He had to fight for me. He always had to be involved in every fight—even the ones he picked that he didn’t need to. The ones with demigods in the street over the love of a woman.
A woman who already loved him anyway.
My eyes flicked to Cupid. “What about my love story? He can’t die.”
“Your love story was never about this man,” Cupid said in a low voice.
“But I love him,” I said. “Isn’t that what a love story is? How can he not be part of my future?”
Neither Cupid nor Pythia spoke. They understood things I didn’t, but they weren’t telling me.
Anger flared in me. I looked at Hercules. “He can handle it.”
I didn’t know if that was true so much as I wanted it to be true. I couldn’t lose Justin and Hercules together. If one died, the other died.
Hercules nodded. “Then it is yours to give him.”
I unstoppered the vial, and the scent of the river wafted up to my nose. I could not describe it except as … immortality. As life. And it was intoxicating.
I leaned down, kissed him once. “You’ll live through this,” I said, as much a command as a wish, a hope. “You will.” I set my fingers to Justin’s lips to part them, and I tipped the vial and poured the whole of it into his mouth.
When I stood, I handed the vial back to Hercules, and we waited.
Nothing happened.
“It will take some time,” Pythia said. She turned to look at Hercules, Cupid and me. “In the meantime, you three have a labor to complete.”
I gestured at my boyfriend. “Can’t the labor wait until Justin wakes?”
Hercules shook his head. “Sadly, it cannot.”
“Why not?”
“The magic binding Hercules is powerful,” Pythia said. “It has brought him back to life—back to this world—for one purpose, and one purpose only: to complete his labors. If he does not move toward them, he moves away from them.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means my strength diminishes,” Hercules said.
I gestured to Justin. “And if Hercules fails in his labors, Justin will die.”
Hercules and Pythia nodded. “And”—Pythia’s finger went up—”there is an added complication.”
I hesitated. “What is it?”
“The nymphs have enlisted the hundred-headed dragon Ladon to guard the tree.”
“Merda.” I turned to Cupid and Hercules, who both looked ashen. “You two know of this dragon, I take it.”
Cupid stared into space. “Everyone in the ancient world knew of Ladon.”
I turned back to Pythia. “Can the nymphs help us get the apples?”
“The guardians of the tree?” Pythia shook her head. “It is a miracle they even told you where the apples are hidden. You cannot ask this of them.”
Stupid Others with their stupid rules, but it made sense in a twisted sort of way. An Other can provide a map, but not a hand. A cryptic clue, but nothing direct. That is the way Others unbind themselves from the duties. We’re all like shady lawyers looking for loopholes in the contracts of destiny.
I should get that printed on a T-shirt, I thought with a groan.
Silence fell, and I looked between Hercules and Cupid. Could the three of us really handle a dragon? Even a dragon with one head?
Pythia rose from the bedside. “But I will aid you.”
I nearly lost my balance. “You?”
“Oh snap,” Cupid whispered to Hercules.
“I did not understand until I touched
you, encantado. You are the one I have waited for since the gods left. Your story supersedes the roles of the old world. I will sacrifice my life for you, if need be.”
“Pythia,” I breathed. She was an old woman, frailer now than she had been even earlier this evening.
She half-smiled. “Ah, I see you underestimate the Oracle of Delphi. Know, little encantado, that I have seen the constellations binding the fates of all mortals.”
Nossa Senhora, I thought. Time to use my Google-fu to figure out how to defeat a dragon.
Pythia circled a finger in the air. “Follow me, you three. We need to prepare.”
The others filed past the beads. I hesitated, lowering again to Justin’s side. I swept aside his hair, placed a long kiss on his forehead. “Sleep well. I’ll see you soon.”
I rose, turned and passed through the doorway, my fingers folding to fists. For how drunk I had been an hour ago, I was painfully sober now.
Chapter 18
Pythia pressed aside a fake wall in Nymphos and led us into a weapons room. And when I say a “weapons room,” I mean this room looked like a jewelry store in the mall, except guns replaced rings. Blades replaced bracelets.
“Woah,” I said.
“No way,” Cupid said.
“Merciful Zeus.” Hercules rubbed his hands together.
“The nymphs call this the trove,” Pythia said, passing to the center of the room. “As useful for living in New York City as it is for guarding Hera’s garden. Pick what you like.”
Hercules was already lifting spears off a rack, testing their weight. Cupid flitted to the bows and arrows. He pulled down a long bow and nearly dropped to the floor before his wings buoyed him up.
I just stood at the doorway. “All this for the nymphs?” It made sense that the guardians of Hera’s garden needed an entire room of weapons … but still. This was something else. Something worthy of epic creatures of lore.
Cupid lifted a single-handed crossbow from the wall. “Hesperians gonna be pissed when they see I took all their bows.”
“One item each, please.” Pythia said to Cupid as she approached me. “These are challenging times. What weapon do you prefer, encantado?”
I retrieved El Lobizon’s claw from where I’d tucked it back into my boot. “I’ll stick with this.”
“Ah, very nearly the instrument of my death.” She admired the curved dagger before she leaned close to me. “Except, how will you cut Ladon without your magic?”
I could see it in her gaze. “You know about my magic,” I breathed. Why was I still surprised by Pythia’s knowledge of everything? She had proven that she could step into a past rendered with cinematic clarity. And yet I was surprised; I had never met anyone like her. Every time she did her oracle thing, it was uniquely jarring.
“Of course.” Her finger hovered over the spot on my arm where I’d been hit with a dart. “It stems from this.”
I stared at the bandaged spot on my shoulder she’d pointed to—from which Justin had dug out the tracer—and it clicked. The World Army didn’t want to lose me, so they’d done the next best thing to capturing me: they had injected me with a chemical concoction that prevented me from changing.
If I couldn’t change faces, I couldn’t hide.
“Do you know how long it will last?” I asked.
“A very long while, I’m afraid.”
“Like, days? Weeks?”
Pythia looked pained. “Longer.”
“Months?”
“Longer,” she whispered.
Something wrenched inside me, and my hand went to my chest. “No,” I said. “That can’t be. I have to shift. I have to.”
For one thing, all my identification and paperwork showed a red-haired, green-eyed Isabella Ramirez. If I couldn’t be her, then how could I get on a plane? How could I travel out of the United States?
But more importantly, I was an encantado. Shifting was in my nature. The World Army might as well have cleft away one of my legs.
“I pity you, dear,” Pythia said, one hand touching my hair. “But we must rise to the challenges we are given. This is yours.”
My head felt light, and it was only when Pythia led me to a table of throwing stars and other tiny instruments of death and urged me to lean on it that I realized I was actually seeing stars—but not the metal kind.
At once, Hercules and Cupid were at my side. “What is it?” Hercules said.
“She has lost her powers,” Pythia said. “She mourns them.”
The two demigods understood right away. Hercules’s warm hand encircled mine, and Cupid’s arm went around my shoulders. I had to admit, it helped. All of it.
When my breathing slowed, a different feeling ebbed in. I wasn’t wholly familiar with it, but it was starting to become more common. Ever since my life had taken this turn—the World Army, being on the run—I was finding it easier and easier to inhabit.
Chutar o pau da barraca.
I wanted to kick the tent pole.
I raised my face, wiped my eyes. “Serena Russo did this”—I touched my shoulder—“which means I can undo it. I’ll figure out how to get my magic back.”
“How will you figure it out?” Cupid asked.
I lifted my eyes to him. “Because magic is science unexplained. And I’m the better scientist.”
↔
A half hour later, Pythia emerged from the trove, a tall staff in her left hand. At the top, gnarled roots encircled a green gem. It had been hers from antiquity, she explained to us, and she used to raise it to the heavens during her rituals.
Now she used it for walking. “And,” she said with a wink, “other things.”
None of us wanted to follow that line of conversation.
Next came Cupid, who still had his signature bow and arrows. Except he’d replaced the back quiver with a sleek, dark one that hung at his waist. “For easier drawing,” he’d explained. “And I look good in black.”
Then came Hercules. Correction: then clanked Hercules. He emerged in full Spartan armor, a spear across his back, a helmet on his head, and his good old club still at his waist.
Cupid looked him up and down. “You look ridiculous. How are you going to fight in all that?”
Hercules pushed his chest out. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Cupid of Eros.”
Cupid scoffed, flitted toward Pythia. “As if.”
Hercules looked at the oracle for approval.
She pointed to Cupid. “He’s right about the armor.”
Hercules sighed and proceeded to unstrap his gear piece by piece.
I emerged last, my hands empty. In the end, I hadn’t wanted another weapon. I would stick with El Lobizon’s claw and my wits. Physical fighting wasn’t my forte, and I doubted it ever would be.
We circled in the hallway, Nymphos’ sultry music ebbing through the walls.
“So,” I said to Pythia, “tell us everything you know about this dragon.”
“If you know anything about dragons, there’s not much to say,” Pythia said. “Except that Ladon has one hundred heads capable of breathing fire—each one of them.”
Cupid, who’d some time managed to sneak a bottle of Ambrosia into his loincloth and was now drinking straight from it, spewed everywhere. “You’ve got to be shitting me. All at once?”
The rest of us stared at him.
“Guys,” he said, raising the bottle, “I’m allowed to curse. I’m the second oldest here.”
“It’s still weird,” I said.
“It is a bit,” Hercules agreed.
“Not all at once,” Pythia explained to Cupid. “Only one head may breath fire at a time.”
“Still, how are we going to defeat a dragon with one hundred heads?” I asked Pythia.
A woman’s alto sounded behind us. “Not with those blunt weapons.”
We all turned. Erytheia stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Those nymphs were awfully good at sneaking up on us in the middle of a conversation. She raised her forearm
, pointed to the band-aid covering the spot where Justin had cut her. Her eyes were on the claw tucked into my boot. “You took away my magic.”
“It’s temporary,” I said. “It’ll come back within an hour.”
Erytheia raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you lied when you had it poised over the oracle’s throat.”
I shrugged. “I said what I had to.”
She pointed at the claw. “My sisters won’t speak to any of you”—her eyes lifted to the oracle—“especially you, Pythia. We accept this fate you’ve decreed, but helping them thieve Hera’s apples? You take away our purpose.”
“The labor must be completed,” Pythia said. “It is more important than old roles, old grievances.”
Erytheia’s eyes lifted to me. “You need to suppress Ladon’s magic. It is the only way you can defeat him and take the apples.”
Great. So we needed to get close enough to his one-hundred-headed body to cut him. But we also needed to avoid his fire. And his tail. This would go splendidly. For the next ten minutes, we all set our heads together to come up with a plan.
When we had finished strategizing, Hercules gave a single nod. “Let us to it, then.” He started toward the front entrance of Nymphos, but Pythia stopped him.
“Where are you going, Heracles?”
“To Central Park to defeat the dragon Ladon and retrieve three of Hera’s apples.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you know how far it is to Central Park? Do I look like a woman who walks in the city at night?”
The three of us knew better than to attempt answering that one.
Pythia jerked her head in the opposite direction. “Come on, out the back. We’re going in my car.”
I hesitated, looking back toward her room, where Justin lay. “He’ll be safe here?”
Pythia turned to me. “I give you my word. The only thing that may harm him is the power of the River Styx.”
“All right,” I said. It was the first time Justin and I had been apart in weeks, and it felt strange. But in this new GoneGod World, all things were transient. It was a truth I would eventually have to come to peace with. Especially if Justin didn’t survive the river’s power—an outcome I could hardly think about without tearing up. The image of us in the bathroom, him knelt before me, the trust I felt as he prepared to take the tracer out—all of it flooded back in a moment.
