The Fire of Hestia

by Shannon Reber

  The glass door squeaked as I pulled it open and stepped in. The place smelled a little musty. It had wood paneled walls covered by photos, each with an angel wings emblem at the top.

  I stepped closer to the reception desk, peering at the woman who sat behind it. “Have you seen this guy?” I asked, bringing up Patrick’s picture without preamble.

  The girl glanced at it, giving a slow shake of her head before she waved another woman over. We went through that several times before a middle-aged woman stepped over.

  She glanced at the photo and tears filled her eyes. “It’s been a long time but yes, I do know Patrick,” she said, her shoulders dropping as she stared into space.

  I waited for her to finish, sure she didn’t need any prodding at all to tell her tale.

  She took in a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on the wall. “My son Leslie joined the army right out of high school. He’s a pilot, a very skilled one. He wanted to save the world,” she sniffled a little, continuing on in her story. “My Leslie served his country for four years. He wanted to continue helping people when he got out. He started working for The Angels of Mercy, flying supplies into dangerous areas. Most flights like of that sort have a military escort, so Leslie knew some of those soldiers. On one trip, Leslie was attacked and taken captive. There was no hope. None at all, until a soldier found him. That was Patrick, always saving the day. He got Leslie out and the two became friends. Patrick’s tour ended and he started working for The Angels of Mercy too.” She stopped, tears rising in her eyes. “They were in Nigeria and they were shot down. Patrick . . . didn’t make it. My Leslie was never the same after that. He still has a haunted look about him and he stopped working for the Angels.” She sniffed, her eyes fixed on the wall. “Leslie told me they had this little joke. Leslie was the Angel of Mercy and Patrick was the Angel of Death.”

  My heart pounded so hard, I felt lightheaded. Patrick had told me his father was the angel of death. It was all to point me to The Angels of Mercy. What other things had he said that might have been a clue? Who was he?

  I turned to look at the wall where the woman had been staring and realized what it was. It was a memorial to ‘Departed Angels’, people who were killed while doing that work.

  I looked hard at the wall and my mouth fell open. Patrick’s picture was there . . . the name Patrick Erkens written at its top.

  SEVEN

  Aetos' skin crawled as the cerberus stopped next to him. He had heard what Hades said to the creature. If he failed, he would be the cerberus’ ‘play thing’. He did not want to even imagine the horror of being devoured by a three headed dog.

  In his Rottweiler form, Janus looked equally fierce, yet there was something almost approachable about the dog. Aetos had a feeling that the moment he reached out to ruffle the dog’s ears, he’d lose the hand. It was not a chance he was willing to take.

  He turned his eyes away from the beast and thought about his plan. He would go to Madison Meyer but not right away. He wanted to be able to add something to the investigation she was already doing.

  He knew the boy named Kip had been the one to activate the device that nixed his and Spencer’s magic. Madison had been searching for Kip in the last couple of weeks. She had not been able to find him. Maybe it was the answer. If he found the kid and took him to Madison, it would make him invaluable to her.

  Guarding Spencer had given him access to many different aspects of both Spencer’s life and the paranormal investigation business. He had heard all that Madison and TC Erkens had said about the Chief of Police and his son. Aetos thought starting with him would be the best option.

  Since it was nine o’clock in the evening, most people would be at home. He hoped the Chief would as well. Maybe he could simply follow the man and find something useful. Or maybe he could set Janus on him to get information.

  He wasn’t sure the dog would cooperate. He was a threat Aetos could use, though. Being in the human world meant he had to blend in, so Aetos walked to the car he’d bought for the job. It was one he’d picked for its simple usefulness. However, as he’d begun using it, he found he liked the feel of it.

  He had spent most of his life traveling to the Axis Mundi, using the gateways to get from place to place. Now, he traveled as many places as possible in his vehicle. It gave him a feeling of freedom, of control and he enjoyed it very much.

  He cleared his throat as he opened the back door. “Janus, this is the way humans travel,” he said, aware that if the cerberus chose not to get in, there was nothing he could do about it.

  Janus looked at him for a few seconds before he did jump into the back seat, settling in like it was an ordinary experience for him.

  Aetos closed the door behind the monster and got into the driver’s seat. He had parked his car at the light rail station in Dormont, so he only had a twenty minute drive to the Chief’s home. He took the time to make a few calls, checking with the contacts he’d had watching the place where the portal was located.

  There had been nothing major. The fact the FBI had an agent observing the place as well made him pause. Part of his mission had been to keep those in human authority from finding out a demigod was living in Pittsburgh. If the FBI was there, it was possible Madison had told them the truth about Spencer. He wondered just how many ways he would be tortured before Hades killed him for his colossal failure.

  The sun had set not long before, leaving the sky in varying shades of blue. It was a perfect backdrop in his mind. If he was living his last night in the human realm, he would enjoy as much of it as he could.

  He rolled down the windows, allowing the warm air to wash over him. There was nothing better in his mind.

  Aetos sobered as he pulled in down the street from the Chief’s house. He had a job to do. He would find Spencer not only because of his fear of torture but also because he liked Spencer.

  He hadn’t expected it in the least. He had expected Hades’ son to be an arrogant, self-indulgent buffoon. What he had found was a good man who cared for others and didn’t even seem to like the fact he was the son of a god.

  Aetos admired that about Spencer. He was the kind of man who would, if he would accept his mantle, make a good and fair ruler of the underworld. The fact Spencer had no desire for such a role made Aetos sure he was the one who SHOULD have it.

  Hades was far too easily swayed by his own love of power. He allowed his personal feelings about a certain group to determine the severity of their punishment. Many had spoken out against him. None of them had survived long enough to make a problem for the god.

  Aetos glanced at Janus in the rearview mirror, hoping the creature didn’t have the ability to read minds. Many men had been killed for sedition of that sort. Since the monster simply sat with his head hung out the window like an ordinary dog, he felt safe enough. For the moment.

  Aetos watched the house for a few minutes, seeing only a few lights on. He saw no movement at all, so either the man was asleep or he wasn’t there.

  Aetos got out of the car and opened the back door. “Janus, would you come with me?” he asked, thinking the Rottweiler would be intimidating enough on his own.

  Janus bared his teeth at Aetos but he did jump out of the car.

  Aetos peered around as they walked toward the Chief’s house, taking in everything he could. It was a charming, craftsman style structure with a large front porch and a pretty, brick walkway leading to it. A wrought iron table and chairs on the porch gave it a peaceful, homey quality that welcomed the onlooker to sit and watch the world pass by. There were potted plants all around that were well cared for and blooming prettily.

  As they got closer to the house, a figure walked toward them. The figure hadn’t come from the house. He had come from another street. The man who neared them was a little on the heavy side with graying, brown hair and had the look of a man who’d been made hard simply by experience.

  It was Chief Theron. Aetos had seen the man’s picture as Spencer had researched him. By the sweaty s
tate of the guy, it was clear he’d gone for a run.

  As they got closer to each other, an expensive car pulled up next to the Chief. A man with a shaved head and very expensive suit stepped out of the back seat to be next to the Chief. Aetos recognized the man in the suit as well. It was Sheenan, the magistrate from the Axis Mundi who’d been turned into a human by his son’s power.

  Aetos had the ability to cloak himself in a way that simply made him unnoticeable. He would be able to stand directly next to them and their eyes would simply skim over him for a reason they wouldn’t be able to identify.

  He laid his hand on the top of Janus’ head to shield him as well as they walked toward the two. Aetos was surprised by the look on the Chief’s face. The man looked terrified.

  “Bukowski was a good man,” the Chief was saying, holding his stomach like he might be about to be sick.

  Sheenan jutted his chin out, shooting a ferocious scowl at the Chief. “And your son shot him in the chest. Do you plan to go after the boy?”

  The Chief swallowed hard. “I . . . you made him do it. Kip would never--”

  “You’re deluding yourself. No one told your son to shoot Bukowski or the old woman. He made that choice on his own. My question for you, is do we turn him in to you or to a higher authority?”

  And Aetos understood. Kip was what the PSA had been using to keep Chief Theron from coming after them. They were using the threat of his son’s incarceration to control the man.

  Chief Theron’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped. “Don’t . . . please don’t turn him in. He’s just a kid and he’s been through a lot.” There was so much desperation in the man’s tone, a feeling of pity filled Aetos.

  Sheenan turned toward his car. “Get the Meyer girl off our backs,” he ordered, getting into the back seat before anything else could be said.

  EIGHT

  When Gabe and I got back to the FBI office, I started snooping into Erkens’ life. What I found made me wish Erkens had trusted me enough to tell me his story himself. Then again, he was Erkens. He wasn’t the sharing type.

  My brain ached. My heart was broken. Everything inside me felt wrung out. There had been so much about Erkens I never knew.

  Just like the woman at Angels of Mercy said, Patrick Erkens had been a soldier. He had been Special Forces, the group most people called Delta Force even though it was never an official title. And from what I’d found, he’d been one of the best.

  Eight years ago, Patrick had indeed been in the Angels of Mercy plane that had been shot down. What the woman had failed to mention was that neither man had died in the crash. They had been taken captive . . . and tortured.

  There were pictures on record of what had been left of Patrick’s body. With the damage done to him, he could not have survived.

  When I’d scanned him the previous evening, he had been human. He wasn’t a shapeshifter. And he was now legally listed as Patrick Beech.

  My mouth fell open as it dawned on me. When I had talked to Tria, I had found out that her son had Tay-Sachs disease. It was a fatal genetic disorder. The little boy was alive because of the PSA. It was how they had gotten her to sign the contract that bound her to them.

  Could that be it? Could the PSA have taken Patrick’s body and somehow brought him back to life, basically indenturing him to them because of it? Did Erkens know his son was alive? Had they been close?

  Questions roiled around in my brain as I searched for more information. Patrick had resigned his commission at the age of thirty, joining The Angels of Mercy immediately after. As I searched further into his records, it became clear he hadn’t resigned at all.

  Getting to the information took every ounce of hacking skill I possessed. Their security was top notch but I was determined. I was a code breaker. It was my forte.

  And after a little while, I was able to get to his real information. Patrick had transferred into Counterintelligence. He truly had been a spy.

  My breath caught in my chest as I found his mission. It had been to find the warlord who had declared loyalty to an Islamic militant group.

  Wow. If the warlord had found out Patrick was an American soldier, it was no wonder the plane had been shot down. If the PSA had gotten him out, saved his life, they must have had a reason. Was it information or was it the skills he’d learned in Special Forces?

  Erkens had begun his investigations into the paranormal world around nine years before. I knew the story about how he and Bukowski had faced down the banshee who had killed Chief Theron’s wife. What if Patrick was the reason Erkens had survived the encounter.

  Erkens believed his son was dead . . . or was it possible he had known and had kept Patrick’s secret all those years? I honestly doubted it. The way he’d reacted to the man whose son had died in our last case spoke volumes. I just hadn’t identified his reaction as understanding of the man’s pain.

  Okay, first things first. Was Patrick a good man? I wasn’t sure. The fact he was Erkens’ son should mean he was. He had also been a soldier, a spy. Could it have changed him?

  It probably had, although that didn’t make him a villain. Maybe he was just grumpy . . . like Erkens had a habit of being. Maybe it was a family trait.

  A mix of amusement and sorrow washed over me. I missed Erkens’ grump. I missed Spencer’s laid back way of dealing with everything and everyone. And oh, I missed Ian.

  Eighteen days had passed since the last time I saw him. And loneliness passed over me again. I missed everything about him.

  The way he looked at me. The way he knew me. The way he could always help me work my way through a problem.

  I didn’t know what to do. Yes, Patrick might be able and willing to help get his dad away from the PSA. Why hadn’t he just said who he was? Could he be working against us?

  “Madison?”

  I glanced back to find Gabe standing there, his skin a little pasty. I got to my feet, motioning him to my chair. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my heart rate rising as I looked more closely at him.

  He looked like he’d just lost his best friend. Fear. Sorrow. Worry. They were written all over his face. I knew those emotions all too well.

  Dear God, had something happened? Was one of the guys hurt . . . or gone? Please, please no.

  Gabe slumped into my chair, his eyes closed as he tipped his head back. “Spencer kind of got through to me. He’s alive. They’re all alive. He’s worried about Ian.”

  My knees wobbled as a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I wanted to ask him questions. No words would come out. Ian. It was too much. Far, far too much.

  Gabe looked at me, his eyes filled by pity. “Ian signed the contract.”

  And my knees did give out. I would have fallen to the floor if Gabe hadn’t gotten a chair under me and eased my head down between my knees. Too much. I couldn’t take any more.

  I’d never realized just how much pain my heart could withstand and continue beating. Indentured. Enslaved. It was how I saw the contract. Why would he have signed it?

  But I already knew. It would be because they threatened me. Ian Gregory was a good man who really would do anything for me. Including signing his life away.

  My body tensed as heat rose inside me. Anger. I had never felt so angry in my entire life. The PSA would burn. That was all there was to it.

  NINE

  Two more days passed. There was no news. My mind was stewing in anger. It did not make for a happy, well adjusted me. In all honesty, it made for a very unpleasant me.

  It wasn’t like I had been pleasant before I’d found out Ian had signed the contract. I had reached a point where unspeakable rage had taken up residence in my heart. The pain and bitterness had faded, leaving the bubbling anger in its wake.

  Everyone steered clear of me. I wanted them to. I also resented them for it. I didn’t even care how unreasonable it was.

  Being alone made me want to have people around. Having people around made me want to be alone. It was drivin
g me crazy.

  My biggest frustration right then was the fact Patrick hadn’t contacted me again. His phone had been shut down. I couldn’t find any way to contact him.

  I was sick of people edging away when they saw me coming. Just to save them all from having to deal with me, I chose to leave the office almost as soon as I got there. I didn’t have a set schedule with the FBI. I could work from home if I wanted to.

  Home wasn’t what I wanted, though. I pulled up in front of Ian’s house and stared at the place. It was a duplex a couple of blocks away from my own house. Everything about it had appealed to me when he’d first found it. At that point, I hated it simply because Ian wasn’t there.

  I got out of my car and slowly trudged my way up to the door. I took out the key Ian had given me, my eyes fixed on the grooves in the metal.

  It was like us. We fit together, each of us unlocking something in the other. I rolled my eyes. Maudlin. I needed to stop.

  I walked in, taking in everything about the place. There wasn’t much furniture and only a few things that made the space appear to be lived in.

  There was a single pair of shoes inside the door, ones that belonged to Anton, Ian’s roommate. There were also papers on the table, indicating Anton had been paying bills. That was it. Everything else made the house look uninhabited.

  I shuffled my way toward Ian’s bedroom, laying my hand on the door before entering. I didn’t want to be there. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  Slowly, I opened the door. His bed was made. It was something his mom had always insisted on when he was a kid. He hadn’t changed even after he’d moved out.

  Not that he’d been there. He’d only lived away from home one night before he’d been taken. He’d still made his bed, though.

  I walked in, laying down on top the covers. Just like everything else, being there was a turmoil inside me. I wanted to leave. I also wanted to stay. More than anything, I just wanted things to go back to the way they had been.