A week goes by and Alex doesn’t call or come to school. I resist the urge to stop by his house, partly because I don’t feel like I know him well enough to drop in unannounced, but also because I feel like it’s not my turn to make contact. I left him my number. He’ll call when he’s ready. Or not. Either way, I’m not going to press him. I have my pride, and I’m certainly not going to go panting after some human boy. I’m not Chloe.
I do see Emily. She comes to the high school on Wednesday and asks me to get some more assignments for Alex. I get them and I’m a little excited to have an excuse to go by his house, but this time when I emerge from the school, she’s still there, waiting for me. Well, damn. I hand over the folder, but I stop her before she pedals off on her bike.
“How is he?” I ask, forgetting I shouldn’t care.
“He’s doing better. He should be back in school next week. They’ve found some new combination of drugs that’s helping. At least for now.”
“That’s good. Tell him hello for me.”
She starts to pedal away, but then jams on the brakes and turns back to me.
“Listen,” Emily begins. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything but I’m going to, so don’t let him know I told you. He’s picked up the phone about fifty times to call you, but he keeps putting it back down. I don’t know why. He won’t talk about it, just tells me to butt out. But maybe you could call him?”
I smile at her. “No. I made my offer. He either will or won’t call. That’s up to him.”
“But don’t you want him to call you?” she asks.
I shrug. “Only if he wants to. He’s got enough to worry about. If he doesn’t want to call, I don’t blame him.”
Emily shakes her head. “You’re as stupid as he is. I think you two would be good for each other. He seems happier when you’re around, when he talks about you.”
I laugh at the certainty of a thirteen-year-old. In her world, you either like someone or you don’t. They either like you back or they don’t. She doesn’t see the problems inherent in a relationship between the living and the dying, between a mortal and an immortal. She can’t grasp the complications of Alex having too little time and me having far too much. The chasm between death and an infinite fate cannot be crossed.
“We’ll see,” is all I say.
She huffs, gets on her bike, and channels her frustration into furious pedaling. “Just call him,” she hollers into the wind before she turns the corner and disappears.
I don’t call. The decision has to be his.
It’s Friday afternoon when my phone rings and the tone indicates something other than an appointment with death. I check the screen and see that it’s Alex. I let it ring a couple of more times, thinking fast. If I pick it up and he wants to hang out, I’ll be trapped. I invited him, and now I’ll have to go through with it. I begin to think my offer wasn’t such a great idea, after all. Maybe it would be better to let it go to voicemail and ignore him, like I should have done all along.
I sigh. And maybe I’m just a big idiot. I answer the phone.
“So, you said I should call you when I’m ready to get out of the house,” Alex says when I answer.
“I did. I take it you’re ready?”
“More than.”
“Okay. One question. I want to take you somewhere, but you need to be able to walk a little to enjoy it. And it’ll take most of the day to get there, see it, and get back. Are you up for all of that?”
“Yeah. I get tired, but if I sit down and rest for a minute, I’ll be okay.”
“If you’re sure. Is Sunday okay?” I ask.
“Fine.”
“All right. I’ll pick you up around nine on Sunday morning. Wear comfortable, outdoor clothes,” I say.
“Sure. And thanks for the Kindle. It came a few days ago. I love it, but are you sure it’s not too much? I don’t want to keep it if it put you out.”
“You’re welcome and, no, it wasn’t too much. Don’t worry about that. We readers need to stick together. I know how much easier it will make things for you.”
“Okay,” he says, uncertainty in his tone. “If you’re sure. Where are you taking me, anyway?”
“That’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait.”
“That’s mean.”
“See you Sunday,” I say.
“See you.”
Now I know Alex can go out, I have to get everything ready so I can spend the day away from my work. Since death never stops, it’s almost impossible for me to take a whole day off. Thankfully, Zeus gave me a way to take some time off now and then. Twice a year, I am allowed to put death off for one day. Everyone who’s currently scheduled to die on Sunday will simply die on Monday instead. It means doubling up on Monday, but since neither day is overwhelmingly busy, it’s doable.
I’ve used this power only twice before, most recently when World War II ended. I was so tired after that war I had no choice. It was take a day off or have a nervous breakdown. I don’t use the perk more often because I can’t just take a day off. I have to visit Mount Olympus and ask Zeus for permission. And he always asks why. By the time I’ve done that, my mom, my sisters, and most of the gods all know my business. I’d rather work than answer questions about my personal life or mental state. When they find out I want to spend a day with a human, they’re going to talk about me for weeks. I shudder just thinking about it. The humiliation is almost enough to make me abandon this plan altogether. Almost.
There’s no use putting it off, so I grab my jacket and head for the car. It’s a beautiful day and the drive to Mount Mitchell is pleasant. Windows down and radio blasting some vintage Rod Stewart, I allow myself to enjoy the moment and try not to focus on the upcoming encounter with Zeus.
When I reach Mount Mitchell, I park in the far corner of the visitor’s lot. It’s getting late in the day, so there aren’t many other cars here. This is a relief. On crowded days, it’s much more difficult to get to the gateway without a human seeing me go off the trail and reporting me to a park ranger. Sitting in the park jail until they decide to release me isn’t fun. I know because it’s happened fairly often. I miss the days when the big mountains were just lawless wilderness.
I get out of the car and grab my hiking boots from the trunk. Leaning on the bumper, I slip off my sneakers and lace up my boots. The gateway to Mount Olympus isn’t far, but I have to hike some rough country to get there.
Properly shod, I toss my sneakers into the trunk, slam the lid, and head for the hiking trails. The temperature is cool but not cold, and the sunshine filters through the trees, decorating the trail with an ever-shifting pattern of light and shadow. The trees are just beginning to leaf out, and everything is a brilliant, light green. Insects buzz over the few early blooming flowers, and the birds are chirping. I’d love to slow down and enjoy the view, but I have a mission so I walk quickly.
At first, I follow the Mount Mitchell Trail, but after half a mile, I veer off onto the Old Mitchell Trail. After a mile or so of easy hiking, I come to a maple tree with a divided trunk. This is where I leave the trail. I stop walking and wait, listening for any approaching hikers.
I hear voices further down the trail so I stay put, pull a map out of my pocket, and pretend to read it. A young couple emerges from the woods, holding hands and laughing. They’re heading back toward the visitor’s center. I nod at them as they pass. After they’re gone, I wait a bit longer, but I don’t see or hear anyone else. I step off the trail and quickly move deeper into the woods.
The incline is steeper here, but it’s not unmanageable. After another mile, I reach a creek. The winter was dry and the water isn’t running high enough to even reach my ankles. This is good. The last time I came up here, I had to wade through knee-deep water. Today, it’s a dry crossing. Once I’m across, the land slopes sharply upward and the hiking gets harder.
I head ever higher up the mountain, picking my way over rocks and fallen trees. Finally, the trees thin and the rocky fa
ce of the mountain becomes more visible as I climb above the tree line. I scrabble over piles of rocks until I reach one that is a bit different from the others. It’s about the size of a dishwasher, and it doesn’t quite follow the natural contours of the others. A casual passerby likely wouldn’t notice the difference, much less notice it’s fake, but those of us who know what we’re looking for can easily spot it.
It’s lighter than it looks, and I pull it away from the others to reveal a low, narrow opening. The only way to get in is to get down on my belly and shimmy through. Once inside, I reach back out of the opening and pull the fake rock until it’s almost back in place over the hole. I leave enough space so that a thin beam of light still filters through, but otherwise, the opening is obscured.
I turn, slide down a dusty incline, and land on the floor below. There’s room to stand, so I get up and brush off my jeans. Except for the tiny beam of light coming from above, it’s pitch black in here. I grope around at the base of the slide for one of the flashlights that’s always kept nearby. Finding one, I flick it on.
Three tunnels lead out of the cave, and I take the one on the left. I follow it until it forks, and I take the right this time. It’s cool and damp down here, and moisture drips from the walls, making for slippery footing. I slow my pace because I don’t need to bust my butt in a fall.
Eventually, the tunnel opens into a small room. The walls here are a strange blue, phosphorescent rock that is, as far as I know, only found in this cave. The room glows with a soft blue light, bright enough that I can turn off my flashlight. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, dripping water into the shallow pool that fills the center of the room. They glow almost green, their natural yellowish color mixing with the blue light emanating from the walls.
The pool is ringed by stalagmites, some worn down to nubs from thousands of years of gods and goddesses using them as seats, shelves, and coatracks. The bottom of the pool glows purple, thanks to a thick, phosphorescent moss that covers the bottom. The whole place looks like a 70’s acid trip.
I sit down on a stumpy stalagmite near the edge of the water and remove my boots and socks, arranging them neatly beside the rock for my return. Another pair of boots lies on the floor next to the adjacent stalagmite. These were carelessly kicked off and now lie on their sides with their tongues hanging out and their laces knotted.
Picking up one boot, I turn it on its side. A sword and shield are burned into the leather on the heel. I know that logo. My heart jumps once, and then settles back into a normal rhythm. These are Ares’ boots. I remember Chloe mentioning once a few weeks ago that he was rumored to be hanging around these mountains. I dismissed it at the time, thinking he’d have no business here, without any wars going on in Asheville. Unfortunately, it looks like Chloe was right.
I drop the boot next to its mate as if it is a dangerous animal. Even though our relationship ended centuries ago, I don’t want to run into Ares, either here or on Olympus. I talk a good game, telling everyone I’m over him and it never mattered much, but the truth is very different. Everything about Ares mattered to me once, and, in my quiet moments when I can be honest with myself, still matters. I’m no longer crazy or deluded enough to act on any feelings I might have, but it’s safer for me to avoid him altogether.
I think about not going to Olympus and giving up on spending the day with Alex. If I leave the cave now, I won’t run into Ares. But that’s the coward’s way out, and I refuse to take it. It isn’t fair to punish Alex for the fact that Ares dumped me for Aphrodite—that he threw every intimacy and kindness I gave him back in my face and all but laughed at me for being naïve enough to think he loved me. Alex deserves the day out, and I’ll give it to him, crazy ex-boyfriend or not.
Rolling up my pants, I wade into the pool. The moss is spongy and squeezes up through my toes. The water is freezing. I curse under my breath. Some gods are lucky enough to be able to teleport at will. I call it poofing. They don’t have to hike through the damn wilderness and wade in a cold pool. Heck, they don’t even have to use cars when on Earth. They just poof around.
My sisters and I are not so fortunate. We’re what Zeus calls, “grounded goddesses.” We can’t poof on our own. To get to Olympus, we either have to use this portal or be touching a god who can poof. To get around on Earth, we have to use conventional transportation. It’s a pain in the butt and one of my biggest gripes with Zeus.
I wait for the pool to recognize me. The moss is a living thing, and it knows all the gods and goddesses. If someone other than a god ever tries to use this pool, they’ll only have the thrill of standing calf-deep in freezing water.
I feel a tug on my legs, as though someone is trying to pull me under the water. That’s just the warm-up act. The pull grows stronger until I feel like my legs are going to pop out of my hip sockets. Suddenly, there’s one quick yank and I’m flying through space.
I used these portals for years before I was willing to open my eyes on the journey. When I finally mustered the courage to look around, I saw crazy fractal patterns everywhere, like some sort of cosmic kaleidoscope exploded and sent shards flying into space. Zeus says that each god sees different patterns and colors, but I’ve never asked anyone else what they see. For all I know, they’re not looking, either.
I pass through a particularly pretty pink and yellow pattern and then I see blue sky, clouds, and, below me, Mount Olympus. There are tourists climbing all over the ruins of Zeus’ palace and the other monuments. I’m looking at the hologram that protects our mountain. As I fly closer to the ground, the landscape starts to pixelate and get staticky, like a TV station that won’t quite tune in. Then, just when it seems like I’m going to crash into the mountain, I’m through the hologram and hovering over Zeus’ real palace on Mount Olympus. In the forecourt of the palace is a pool identical to the one I just left. It pulls me to it, and I touch down in the water with a tiny splash.
Zeus’ palace looms before me. It’s a massive, marble structure surrounded by one-hundred and four columns. A red carpet trails from the main doors, down the steps, and right up to the pool. I think it looks like a big, red tongue hanging out of an open mouth, kind of like the cover of a Rolling Stones album. Absolutely ridiculous. Restraint is not Zeus’ strong suit.
I step out of the pool and into one of the pairs of sandals that are always kept here for visiting gods. It wouldn’t do to track up the red carpet with wet, mossy feet, after all. The sandals are too big for me, and they make alternating flapping and squishing sounds as I follow the carpet up the steps.
The marble doors are open, and I enter the palace. The sheer size and opulence are supposed to make me tremble at Zeus’ might, but all I ever think when I come here is that my father is full of crap.
Mount Olympus is a strange combination of the ancient and the modern. The buildings are all ancient, majestic marble structures. However, what goes on inside looks like what goes on in any home in modern suburbia. Those of us who live among the mortals sometimes bring things to Mount Olympus that we know the others will enjoy, resulting in life that looks less like a royal court and more like a YMCA rec room. Over the years, it’s become downright ridiculous.
I shake my head as I walk past the gods and goddesses. Hera, Zeus’ current wife, is listening to an iPod that Chloe gave her. Nyx is reading the latest Stephen King novel. Poseidon and Apollo are gathered around a laptop, watching Star Wars. Some of the lesser gods are playing Halo on an Xbox. The disconnect between what gods should be doing with their time and what they really do gets larger every time I come back here. They spend less time ruling the world and more time fooling around, not seeming to care that the human world is falling into chaos.
Zeus is sitting on his throne at the end of the hall, bobbing his head in time to the music pouring through his headphones. He looks ridiculous, his mane of white hair smashed down by the headband. I approach the throne and wait for him to acknowledge me.
“Daughter,” he finally says, sl
iding the headphones down around his neck. “What brings you here?”
“I need Sunday off,” I say, skipping the pleasantries. I just want to get this done and get home.
“Hmm. That’s odd. You haven’t asked for a day off in, what, seventy years or more?”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” I ask, more snark in my voice than I intend.
Zeus raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t say anything. He turns to his assistant, Ganymede, who is perched on a small ottoman next to the throne. Ganymede looks like a thirteen-year-old boy, and a pretty one at that. Zeus chose him to be his cup-bearer a few millennia ago, and he gradually turned him into his personal gofer.
“When was her last day off?” he asks Ganymede.
“Nineteen-forty-five.”
“Good grief, girl, what are you trying to do? Kill yourself through work?”
Like that’s possible for an immortal. As it is, I simply say, “Not really. It’s not like taking the whopping two days per year that I’m allotted makes much difference in my stamina level.”
“Don’t get smart,” he cautions, turning back to me.
I shrug. “Just stating the truth,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Seeing my balled fists will just provoke him further.
“Sunday, you say? Why?” he asks.
This is the part I hoped to avoid but knew I could not. I’m allowed to take time off for any reason, but Zeus always wants to know why. I think it’s some misguided fatherly instinct that makes him want to know if I’m okay, but at times like this, I wish he would just remain the absentee father.
“I want to spend some time with a friend.”
“This friend is human?”
“Yes, he’s human,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He’s sick, and I want to show him something special.”
“Hmm.” Zeus leans back on his throne and thinks for a moment. I wait. “You never spend time with the humans. Is this boy special to you?”
“No. Geez, Zeus.” I feel the flush creeping up my neck and I breathe deeply, trying to keep it from becoming noticeable to him. I fail, feeling my cheeks heat.
Zeus just raises his eyebrow at me. I squirm under his glare. Damn. Just leave it alone, I beg him silently.
“Good for you,” he bellows, making the others in the hall turn our way. Great. More attention. “About time. Bring me the hourglass,” he directs Ganymede.
Ganymede jumps up and retrieves a large hourglass from a table on the other side of the great hall. It’s carved with the same animals and insects that adorn the door to my workroom and filled with black sand. Each grain of sand represents one human life. The grains move through the hourglass very slowly. When a grain enters the bottom chamber, it means I’ve done my job and the life is over.
For me to have time off, Zeus has to stop the flow of sand through the hourglass. Only he has the power to manipulate the hourglass, to literally stop the passage of time for one day. I can stop it for a few minutes—or however long it takes for Zeus to notice the sand isn’t moving—by not doing my job, but if I do so without permission, Zeus will punish me so fast and thoroughly that there’s absolutely no incentive to try.
Zeus waves his hand over the hourglass, and small sparks strike the glass. “At 12:01 AM on Sunday, the sands will stop. You will have until midnight on Sunday off. Those scheduled to die will live one more day. You are prepared to double up your work on Monday?” he asks.
“I am. I know the rules,” I remind him.
“Then your request is granted.”
“Thank you.” I turn to go.
“I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you it pleases me that you’ve found someone to spend time with. I worry about you being so alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Mom and my sisters,” I say, turning back to face him.
“So you do. But it’s not the same as having someone special.”
Says the man who has about a hundred “someone specials.” I roll my eyes. “He’s not special in that way, Zeus. He’s a guy who happens to be tolerable and shares some of my interests. That’s it. He’s dying, and I’m trying to be nice.”
“So be it. But it thrills me to see you opening up a little. At times, I’ve feared I made some mistake when I created you and that maybe you are defective somehow.”
“Defective?” I cry. “Maybe I’m not the most well-adjusted god in the pantheon, but I’m not defective. You try dealing with nothing but death for a few thousand years and see how you turn out. Defective,” I say again under my breath.
“What is it with you and Mom this week? I got the same lecture from her last week,” I continue.
“We want you to be happy and enjoy your life.”
“What keeps me happy is not having to deal with emotional bullshit, either of the human or god variety.”
Zeus’ eyebrows come together, and I realize I’ve gone a tad too far.
I retreat. “I’m just saying that my job makes it hard to be with anyone, god or human, and I don’t need you and Mom trying to fix me up. All I want to do is give this guy one enjoyable day before I kill him.”
Zeus sighs. “It’s progress,” he says. “It’s taken three thousand years, but it’s progress. Go on, then,” he says, waving a hand in dismissal.
I back away from the throne, resisting the urge to turn and run, as I know that would make me look weak. I’d probably just trip over the too-large flip flops and land on my face, adding to my humiliation. Once I’m a respectable distance away from him, I turn and walk toward the exit.
“But remember,” Zeus calls to my back, “this boy may be dying, but you are forbidden from telling him anything about who you really are.”
“Like I could forget,” I mutter under my breath. “No worries. It’s not like I want him to know I’ll be killing him in a few weeks,” I call back to Zeus as I stride to the door.
I’m almost outside when Ares slips out from behind a pillar and grabs my arm. Crap. I feel every eye in the place boring into my back, watching to see what will come of this encounter between the former sweethearts. Barf.
Ares moves to stand in front of me, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. Probably figures that I’ll run if he does. He’s not wrong. Gods, he’s easy to look at, something I conveniently manage to forget sometimes. He has short, curly brown hair that tends to flop over his forehead so that you want to brush it back. Round, innocent-looking eyes as deep green as a virgin forest stare back at me. When he smiles, you can’t help but smile back, even if you hate his guts.
He’s tall and broad, which can be scary or comforting, depending on the situation. I remember how, when we were together, he delighted in resting his elbows on my head. I’m so much smaller than he is that he actually has to bend down a little to make it possible. The discrepancy in our heights is so great that he started calling me, “Little Atropos,” in private. I loved it. Once. I shake my head and return my thoughts to the present.
“What?” I snap at him.
“I heard that you want some time off to spend with a human boy. Is that wise?” he asks.
“It’s not your business, is it?”
“No, but I worry about you. A human? Really? Isn’t that something you always swore to avoid? For good reason, I might add.”
“You don’t get to worry about me,” I say. “And you don’t get to question my judgment. You gave up those rights eons ago when you dumped me.” I wish I could shout at Ares, but I’m keeping my voice to a whisper to cheat my audience out of its gossip.
“You’re right. And that’s not really what I meant to talk to you about,” he says, shaking his head. “I just got distracted.”
“Then what is it? I’ve got to get home before dark, so spit it out.”
“I want to apologize for how I treated you all those years ago. I shouldn’t have been so callous. There were better ways to end our relationship than just dumping you after we’d been making out for an hour.”
I c
an’t help but laugh. “Yeah, like about a hundred. But seriously? It’s been a couple of thousand years. Don’t you think it’s a bit late?”
“Well, I’ve wanted to for a while, but you hardly ever come up here. When you’re on Earth, it’s hard to get you alone.”
“Is that why you’ve been skulking around Asheville? Chloe said you were,” I add when he looks surprised I know.
“Partly, yes. And partly, well, because I like to look out for you.” He drops his head as though this thought embarrasses him.
“Good grief. I don’t need your help. And what’s brought this on, anyway? It’s not like you’ve ever cared before. Oh, wait, I get it. The latest floozy dumped you and now you’re lonely, am I right?”
He doesn’t say anything, but his cheeks get red, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Well, let me save you the trouble. I’m not someone you can dump and then pick back up when you need to fill a void in your life.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Save it. I’ve got to go. Don’t hang around Asheville, don’t look for me, and don’t worry about me.” I push past him and run down the steps to the courtyard. Slipping out of the borrowed flip flops, I step into the pool and let it take me back to the cave on Mount Mitchell. I see Ares running down the steps after me, but I’m gone before he reaches me. Unnerved, I shake the whole way back to the car.
Broken Fate Page 8