Olympia Heights:
Book 3
The Blood of Athens
by Amy Leigh Strickland
The characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2013 by Amy Leigh Strickland
http://www.amyleighstrickland.com
@Nimbuschick on Twitter
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the duplication, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of intellectual property. Only small excerpts may be quoted for review purposes. For further questions, please contact the publisher at [email protected]
Matter Deep Publishing, LLC
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To all of the English teachers who inspired me to write and taught me to love reading.
“You should reach the limits of virtue, before you cross the border of death.”
-Tyrtaeus
THE PANTHEON
Zach Jacobs (Zeus)
June Herald (Hera)
Nick Morrisey (Poseidon)
Valerie Hess (Hestia)
Dr. Celene Davis (Demeter)
Frank Guerrero (Ares)
Peter Hadley (Hades)
Devon Valentine (Aphrodite)
Miranda “Minnie” Rutherford (Athena)
Evan Fuller (Hephaestus)
Teddy Wexler Jr. (Dionysus)
Penelope Davis (Persephone)
Astin Hill (Apollo)
Diana Hill (Artemis)
Lewis Mercer (Hermes)
Dr. Jason Livingstone (Mortal)
“To give birth is a fearsome thing; there is no hating the child one has borne even when injured by it.”
-Sophocles
i.
Because Alkmene carried a son of Zeus,
she invited the full force of Hera's wrath,
who sent Eileithyia, goddess of childbirth,
to stay her labor.
Eileithyia delayed the birth of the child
until the wait endangered mother and son,
but a handmaid with no fealty to Hera
took pity on them.
As a trick, to startle the watchful goddess,
the handmaid suddenly yelled, “A son is born!”
Eileithyia was confused by this statement
and let slip her guard.
That moment of chaos was all they needed
for the head to crown and a face to appear.
With a sharp cry, Hera's vengeance was thwarted.
Herakles was born.
“A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.”
-Greek Proverb
I.
Mr. Hadley sat on the end of his bed, dabbing a wet facecloth against his knuckles. He had lost his temper again. He was sorry to say that most of the blood on his hand was not his own.
He stretched his fingers, feeling the split skin strain and scream with pain. He had never wanted the boy; she knew that, but he had agreed for her sake. His wife had wanted Peter so badly, and when she had bled to death bringing him into the world, Mr. Hadley had lost everything.
He heard a sound outside of his bedroom. It was a footstep on old, cracked, pistachio linoleum. He was about to fly into another rage. How dare that boy sneak out after everything that had just happened! The bedroom doorknob turned and opened. Mr. Hadley waited, but no one was there.
“What the--?” He approached the door to close it, but he was interrupted by another sound. He spun around. The VCR on his old tube television was accepting a tape. The play button depressed as if it were being pushed by an invisible hand. The television flicked on.
Mr. Hadley stood frozen in amazement as a video played. It began with a scene in his kitchen three weeks before. It seemed to be filmed from between a stack of soup cans, their blurred silhouettes looming in the foreground of the low-quality video. Peter knocked a glass off the counter. He did it on purpose? Mr. Hadley watched himself tear into the room, shouting. Peter said something back, and Mr. Hadley flat-out punched him in the jaw. The boy’s head whipped around and barely missed the counter before dropping out of frame. Mr. Hadley kept shouting, his wild, bearded face red with anger and spit flying from his mouth.
The video stopped and was replaced by Peter’s bruised face. He was sitting in a janitorial closet, probably at school, and he was holding the camera. His black eyes were fixed on the lens, staring through the camera and the television to lock eyes with his father.
“Dad,” he said, his voice trembling even to say it in a recording. “I have three weeks of this stuff on tape. I’ve given it to friends-- and no, not Penny, so don’t even think about trying to intimidate her. A grown up has a copy. So you have a decision to make.”
Peter took a deep breath. His voice became steady and he stopped trembling. “You can either lay off the booze and keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll have you put away for a long time. Anything happens to me and people know what to do. I’m seventeen, I can get a court order to live on my own for six more months while you rot in prison.”
“Dad,” he said, bringing the camera closer to his face. The autofocus couldn’t adjust, leaving his features blurred. “Keep your damned hands off of me or I will take you down. Sleep tight.”
The door to the bedroom closed. Mr. Hadley sat on the bed. It was his turn to quake with fear.
He stood up and crossed the room. The bedroom doorknob was made of cheap metal and painted over gold. The paint had chipped away over the years to reveal its true nature. Mr. Hadley locked it and shook the door to be sure that it was tight.
The threats of the tape were not what held him in terror. It was Peter. Mr. Hadley had witnessed him a handful of times over the past year talking to absolutely nobody. That boy had never been right. How had he come in here and played that tape without being seen?
“I'm her Doctor,” Jason Livingstone said, trying to keep his voice level as he spoke to the receptionist at Mercy Hospital. “Dr. Jason Livingstone.”
The large woman slipped her thick, black glasses down her nose and looked closely at Devon's file. “Livingstone?” She raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“Yes,” he said. “Livingstone.” He glanced towards the elevator door. This was it. This was the moment when they found out if the baby was going to give them all away.
“Oh, yes. Here you are. She's in room 319.”
Jason ran down the hall. The receptionist called after him. He tapped his foot as the elevator brought him to the third floor. A nurse, who must have been alerted, cut him off before he reached the door.
“Sir, this room is sterile. If you follow me, I can get you prepped.”
Devon screamed from the other side of the door.
“Is she already delivering?” he asked.
“She's already at nine centimeters.”
Jason wasn't going to waste time arguing with the nurse. He followed her to a sink and washed up while she brought him a gown, mask, and gloves. Five minutes later, he entered the delivery room. Devon was laid back on the bed, her feet propped up in stirrups. Sweat covered her forehead. Frank stood next to her, holding her tiny hand in his own massive one. He looked scared.
“Doc,” he said, when Jason entered.
“How's she doing?”
Devon screamed. She dug her nails into Frank's hand. He didn't flinch. The contractions were coming close together now.
“Alright, Devon,” said the doctor at her feet. She was a middle-aged Hispanic woman wit
h streaks of grey in her black hair. “I'm going to need you to push. He's almost here.”
Jason had been in a delivery room many times before. He had observed a few times in med school, assisted when they were short staffed at the hospital, and he had witnessed the birth of his own three children. Watching Devon now, he was amazed at how glamorous she managed to look, screaming, red-faced, with her blonde hair drenched in sweat.
“One more push,” the doctor said.
The last push came with a screamed expletive and then Devon collapsed back on the bed, panting. Jason rushed to get a look at the infant as he was brought to the sink to be cleaned up.
Ten fingers. Ten toes. No horns. No hooves. He sighed and turned to Frank, giving the thumbs up. Frank's smile melted his hardened exterior. For a moment, the colossal eighteen-year-old looked like a child.
Frank pressed his forehead to the glass, looking in on the nursery and the row of baby boys and girls lined up orderly and classified by pink and blue. Jason approached and stopped at his side, watching the massive young man for a sign of what he was thinking.
“Do you know which one's yours?” he asked Frank, tapping his arm and handing him a cup of coffee. Frank took the cup and nodded thanks. It was one in the morning now. He was running on adrenaline.
“Third row away from us, six in from the left,” he said. “That's him. I can tell.”
Jason squinted through the glass at the infant. The baby boy was very pink, and his hair was hidden in a blue hospital cap.
“What's his name?” Jason asked.
“Minnie found something for us,” Frank replied. “Xander. It's Greek. It means defender of the people.”
“Does Xander have a middle name?”
“Devon.” Jason smiled. Frank did, too. “She's a little vain,” he said. Jason laughed.
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.”
-Plato
ii.
It was the night of Harmonia's wedding
when the goddess of fertility first laid
eyes on the beautiful hero, Iason,
and knew she loved him.
They met in a field she had blessed with bounty.
The field had been plowed three times and left fallow
so that she could restore its fertility.
They met in darkness.
The hero of the harvest took her in arms
and the two made love in the naked wheat field.
Then they, gathering their clothes about themselves,
returned to the feast.
“Sex and sleep alone make me conscious that I am mortal.”
-Alexander The Great
II.
Jason set the alarm on his phone and climbed into the back seat of his Buick Electra for a nap. He had an hour before he needed to go get Celene, and he didn't want to stop at home and wake the kids or the sitter. Being at the hospital all night reminded him of his late twenties, when he had pulled double night shifts once a week and slept other evenings in the on-call room. He had been younger then, and his body was better equipped for sleep deprivation. Being reminded of those times did not make him feel younger tonight. It reminded him that he was only getting older.
When his phone buzzed fifty minutes later, Jason shot up and smacked his head on the upholstered roof of the car. He climbed into the front seat and made his first stop at the Dunkin' Donuts drive through. At exactly five thirty in the morning, he pulled up at Celene Davis' house, caffeinated and thoroughly disheveled.
Jason knocked on the door.
Penny Davis answered it. She was fifteen, a sophomore in high school, and the youngest member of The Pantheon. Her heart-shaped face, lately marked with thick black eyeliner and pink glitter lipstick, was clean of all makeup. It was just too early for any of that nonesense. Jason had been dating Penny’s mother for nearly seven months, and Penny had become quite comfortable with Jason.
“You look like crap,” she said, sparing him no politeness.
“Devon had the baby a few hours ago,” he explained.
“She did?”
“Normal. No horns.”
Penny laughed. “Awesome. Come on in. Mom's not really super-cheery this morning, either.” Penny turned into the small house and hollered back towards the bedroom. “Mom, Jason's here. Devon had the baby. It's normal!”
Jason came inside and shut the door. It was a cool March morning, which was downright frigid by Miami standards.
“Penny, I can't make out a word you're saying,” Celene shouted from the bathroom.
“I said, Devon had the baby!”
Celene Davis came out of the bathroom, zipping a plastic bag of travel shampoo bottles and walking towards her packed suitcase. She had not foregone makeup this morning. Her green eyes, framed with thick lashes, were surrounded by a subtle shading of brown eye shadow. She wore a coffee colored lipstick that made all of her features pop. Jason had not stopped being impressed by her cat-like beauty. “Oh, Jason.”
Jason crossed the room to kiss Celene. Penny tactfully looked away.
“No offense, you look like hell.”
“I was watching Devon deliver a baby all night,” he said.
“Is it--?”
“Normal.” Jason nodded. “Xander Devon Guerrero. Totally, absolutely healthy and normal.”
“Thank God,” Celene said. “Are you sure you're good to drive?”
“I've had coffee. You forget I used to pull doubles at the emergency room.”
“You were much younger,” she said.
Jason grunted.
Celene tucked the plastic bag of toiletries in her purse and Jason picked up her suitcase. Penny dragged her own (bright pink) behind her on wheels. “Off we go, then,” Jason said. “You'll need plenty of time to get through security.”
A mob of sleepy teenagers stood, clustered next to airport security. Screens all over the terminal showed boarding times, safety announcements, and muted CNN reports about a European serial killer. The international airport was sparsely decorated with white concrete columns, white tile, potted palms, and posters for local tourist destinations. It was a massive space with ceilings three-stories high. A powered cart towed a train of luggage carts past check-in as they entered through the giant revolving door. The occasional state-funded art installation filled dead space at the corners of the terminal.
Penny ran ahead of her mother and vanished among the sea of hoodies and backpacks. A few of the faculty members were already scanning the crowd and checking off names on a roster.
Candice Matthews, a frizzy, red-haired English teacher, shot a glare at Celene as she turned to say goodbye to Jason. Candice had held a torch for Jason for quite some time.
Jason took Celene's hand and pulled her around behind a concrete column. “I know you're there to chaperone, but remember to have fun. It's not every day you get a free trip to Athens.”
Celene smiled and stretched on her toes to kiss him. She wasn't wearing her usual high heels to fly. “Promise you'll miss me?”
“I already do,” Jason smiled.
“It's only a week.” She slid her arms around his back and rested her head on his chest. Nothing brought two people together quite like ancient secrets and mortal peril. When she finally lifted her head, she stayed close and whispered. “I'll be back in time to celebrate your birthday.”
“I haven't looked forward to one of those in almost ten years.”
“You should get a sitter for this one,” Celene said.
“We can go out,” Jason started to suggest.
“I was thinking they could go out and we could stay in.”
“Oh.” He hesitated and then raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
“Oh,” she said with a smile and stepped away. Jason had been a perfect gentleman for the last seven months, but he liked the sound of this plan. “Well, I'm definitely looking forward to this birthday
.”
Celene grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it up. “I suppose I need to check in with Candice. It's time to go get groped by airport security.”
Jason slid his hands into his pockets. “Stay safe over there,” he said. “Keep your eyes on our bunch.”
“There aren't enough eyes in the world for that job,” she joked.
Jason kissed Celene one last time and then watched her walk towards the crowd of students.
Peter Hadley, a tall, pale boy with dark hair, turned to look at Jason. Jason waved. Peter broke away from the crowd.
“How's it going?” Jason asked him, keeping his voice low.
“Alright. I mean... yeah. Free trip to Greece for being the poorest kid in school. Can't knock that.”
Jason cast a skeptical eye over the boy. He had no visible bruises, but that didn't mean that everything was okay. This fall, Peter had come to Jason with a secret. Jason already knew that Peter was Hades, Lord of the Dead, able to speak to ghosts and turn invisible. What was one more secret? As far as Jason knew, only he, Celene, and Penny knew this secret. Peter had been suffering in an abusive home for most of his life and Penny had talked him into getting help.
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