Zeus is Dead

by Michael G. Munz

  “Fear?” Leif asked. “Seriously?”

  “As I said, we are often ruled by a fear of losing power. Had we known that a weapon existed that could destroy one of us . . . It would be destabilizing at best. I doubt anyone knew.”

  “Zeus knew,” Leif said. “He had to or he wouldn’t have done that . . . amulet thingy.”

  “Perhaps. He may have simply been aware of a threat without knowing its source.”

  Thalia shrugged. “It’s a moot point anyway, isn’t it? We can’t exactly go into the underworld as if he were a mortal and ask his shade.”

  “Wait, you can do that?” Leif asked.

  “No, I said we can’t do that. I swear on a screaming box of bunnies, nobody listens to me!”

  “I meant with mortals.”

  “I know what you meant.”

  “So why act like you didn’t?”

  “Because it was a potentially funny misunderstanding!” Thalia beamed.

  Leif blinked. “Not very.”

  “Critics! I told you I’m stressed!”

  Tracy cut off the exchange with a hand over Leif’s mouth before he could volley back. “That weapon didn’t just pop into existence in that box in Zeus’s office,” she said. “So where did it come from? Who could make it?”

  Apollo frowned, apparently thinking once more. For a moment they all waited, and Tracy removed her hand. Leif smiled. “You know you’ve—”

  “Compliment my skin and I’ll claw your eyes out, Karlson.”

  “The Moirae,” Apollo said suddenly as if that explained it all. Plainly no one else thought so. “More commonly: the Fates. They spin, measure, and cut the very threads of reality. Life and death, existence and oblivion, all they may bend and shape at their will. If there exists a weapon that can kill a god, surely they must know of it.”

  Thalia patted him on the shoulder. “Poetically said, Apollo, but that’s not exactly helpful. I mean, they’re not the most forthcoming beings, are they? And even if they did know something and were of a mind to tell it, wouldn’t Poseidon already have asked them about it, learned about it, and told the rest of us about it before he hunted down the . . .” The Muse trailed off, somehow managing to provide her own echo for what Leif presumed was dramatic effect.

  “Unless Poseidon was the one responsible in the first place!” Tracy finished.

  “Perhaps,” Apollo told them. “Perhaps not. As Thalia said, they may know and simply not be of any mind to share.”

  “Or something else less obvious,” Leif suggested.

  Apollo nodded. “In any case, I will pay them a visit.”

  Thalia gaped. “That means going back to Olympus, Apollo! You just diminished to avoid that very thing! Are you trying for some sort of dramatic irony, because there’s a time and place for that and neither is here or now! Or now and Olympus for gods’ sake! (Oh, I got those backwards the first time, didn’t I?) How in the name of Cerberus’s chew toys do you think you’re going to sneak all of us up there to see them when you’re not even at full strength? Things weren't already challenging enough for you or something?”

  “I don’t plan to sneak all of you up there. The Fates dislike mortal visits. I must go alone.”

  “Alone?” Thalia cried. “That’s not better! Is that better? How is that better? What are we supposed to do until then, just sit around and—? I can come with you, right? I mean I need a good bath, get some of this sand out of my hair, maybe have a few dozen glasses of ambrosia and— Hey, is this some sort of ‘abandon the younger protagonists to stand on their own for dramatic tension’ thing because again, time and place . . . not now! . . . Or here! And I’m not much younger than you anyway!”

  “Stop going back to the trope well, Thalia.”

  “If the shoe fits, buy twenty.”

  “You have to stay with the mortals, Thalia.”

  “Why?”

  Apollo pointed at the silver bangle entwined about her bicep. “You know why. And if I know Ares, your sisters are likely being watched. None can come here to take your place.”

  Thalia began to protest, stopped, teared up, converted sadness to anger, geared up for an outburst, then bit her lip to shut it all down under Apollo’s gaze, finally nodding. Even those readers imagining her response as quite a production are likely to have imaginations guilty of understatement.

  “What’re you to talking about?” Leif pressed, hating to be left out.

  “Each Muse wears a bangle that makes her completely untraceable. By anyone,” Apollo said. “It’s one of the main reasons writers hate the question, ‘Where do you get your ideas?’ They can’t figure it out themselves. And the bangle’s power has an aura; if Thalia stays near you, none may divine your location.”

  “Oh yeah? So how’d the Erinyes know where to show up?” Leif asked.

  “They knew where the monster died,” Thalia said with a sniff.

  Apollo nodded. “You can still be spotted by sight, but you’re off the radar. Metaphysically speaking.”

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” Tracy demanded. “Leif said you were having visions about all this yourself. Any guidance there?”

  Apollo shook his head. “They were about Leif only, I regret to say. While following him led us to you, I knew nothing of you specifically.” Apollo pointed at Leif. “He was climbing the Eiffel Tower and talking to Zeus. There was little of practical—”

  “Wait, the Eiffel Tower?” Leif burst. “Climbing? As in outside? At the top?”

  “In a rainstorm.”

  “Ha!”

  “That was the vision.”

  “Ha! No way. There’s not—I can’t—Do you have any idea how tall that thing is?”

  “Three hundred twenty-four meters. I visited soon after having the vision, looking for further clues to Zeus’s return.”

  “That answers my next question,” Tracy said. “I take it you didn’t find anything.”

  “No.”

  Tracy sighed. “Well, I can’t just sit here waiting, can I? Zeus clearly wanted me to do something.”

  “I believe it would be wisest for you to remain with Leif and Thalia for the moment,” Apollo said. “Until I learn more.”

  Leif didn’t quite catch Tracy’s protest at that. A previously minor fear of heights was swiftly ballooning in his mind. “That’s not a literal vision, right?” he tried. “It’s a metaphor for something, isn’t it?”

  “It may be, but I do not believe—”

  Tracy ignored the entire exchange. “How do we even know the Fates are going to be on your side?”

  “We do not, but I count it unlikely they would be against us either. They hold themselves aloof from the rest of Olympus. Even Zeus himself was reluctant to challenge them.”

  “Okay,” Tracy tried, “so take me with you. They might need to see the amulet.”

  Leif remained elsewhere. “What’s the Eiffel Tower?” he whispered. “There’s a radio antenna at the top! A big radio antenna!”

  Thalia touched a finger to her lips. “Leif. Shush, honey.”

  “And I’m climbing it, talking to a god . . .”

  Apollo continued to Tracy. “I cannot risk your presence on Olympus, Ms. Wallace. At least not until we know more. Though it may be wise to take the amulet with me . . .”

  “Nope. Zeus wanted me to have it, right? Something tells me I really shouldn’t let it go.”

  “A radio antenna . . .” Leif jolted, thinking of something. “A radio! For talking to a god! A radio for talking to God! That’s a line from Raiders of the Lost Ark!”

  Tracy scowled, apparently surrendering the battle to ignore him. “And he’s lost his marbles.”

  “Prescient visions do not reference movies, Mr. Karlson.”

  Leif didn’t let that stop him. “No, but there’s no way I’d climb the actual Eiffel Tower! It’s a reference to the movie obviously! He said that in a Cairo café in the movie! We need to go to Cairo, that’s it!”

  Apollo shook his head again. “That wa
s not my impression.”

  “So? You didn’t know a thing about Tracy, why can’t you be missing this too! Cairo! Or wherever Harrison Ford lives. Or—or maybe that French actor who played the archeologist in the movie! The one who said the line. Hey, he’s French, just like the Eiffel Tower!” Leif was on his feet. “It’s so obvious. Don’t you see?”

  “His name is Paul Freeman,” Thalia told him, “and he’s British.”

  “Oh.” Leif sat, crestfallen.

  Tracy turned back to Apollo. “How long will your Fates visit take? If I just sit around this campfire for too long, I’m going to go crazy.”

  “I understand your urgency, Ms. Wallace—”

  “Zeus is dead. Jason’s dead. Someone has to pay for that!”

  “I said I understand,” Apollo repeated. “But I must be cautious. Perhaps as much as a day, though I hope for less.”

  “For someone who can see the future, that’s not a terribly precise estimate.”

  “Hey! Of course!” Leif slapped his own thigh, flush with a sudden epiphany. All eyes were on him again. He beamed back at them, explaining. “Maybe it’s Paul Freeman’s character that’s—”

  Apollo’s glare was almost audible. His voice certainly was. “No, Mr. Karlson! That is not! It! Know that in my time I’ve interpreted more visions than you’ve had foolish thoughts in your head, and I choose such an insanely high number to impress upon you the incredible mind-boggling vastness of my experience! You will let this go! The vision is literal! Take my word for it or don’t, but either way you will stop babbling and we will all be much, much happier!”

  “Or at least seventy-five percent of us,” Thalia cracked.

  Leif cast about the group for any sort of support at all. Obviously there was none from Apollo. Thalia just seemed amused. Tracy . . . damn, she had gorgeous eyes. He lingered there a moment.

  “Fine,” Leif managed finally. He turned to stare into the campfire. “Know-it-all god-posers.”

  “I didn’t quite catch that?”

  “I said ‘sorry,’” Leif grumbled.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought you said. As for the topic at hand, while I’m gone, it might be prudent for the three of you to return to Las Vegas. It’s not a perfect option, but the city isn’t far off, and you’ll be less exposed than you are out here, provided you keep a low profile.”

  As the others worked out just where they would meet back up with Apollo―and how long of a hotel bath Thalia might be able to take in the meantime―Leif’s mind drifted. Okay, he consoled himself, all right, so maybe it wasn’t that bad. Zeus wasn’t back yet, was he? Zeus had to be back for the vision to be true, so at the very least he had a little time. If the vision was literal, that meant that Zeus would be right there, and if Leif had helped bring him back somehow, surely the god wouldn’t let him fall off the tower, right? Maybe. He supposed he would find out when—Leif gasped, seizing upon a hope: If it was a vision of the future, well, that would mean he’d survive until then, wouldn’t it? Whatever trouble there was coming up the pike—angry gods; divine conspiracies; stolen mochas; vindictive, bleeding-eyed bat-women—he’d have to survive it in order to fulfill the vision! Leif was suddenly conscious of grinning like an idiot, but as it was the grin of an idiot who’d been granted a prophetic guarantee of safety, he didn’t really care.

  Of course, if Tracy herself wasn’t in the vision, did that mean something had happened to her? The thought froze him solid. Geez, what if that was it? What if she was fated to die? He instinctively reached out to give her hand a protective squeeze before he could stop himself. So genuine was his alarm that Tracy didn’t even yank it free.

  “What? What is it?” she started.

  Leif held on. His appreciation for the sensation of physical contact stunned him into hesitation. Just as stunning was the novelty that she hadn’t pulled away. Dear gods, he loved this woman. Again, he wondered why, and again he didn’t care. He suddenly noticed that her eyes were fixed on his, searching for the reason for his alarm. He couldn’t bear to tell her.

  “Karlson?”

  “I—it’s nothing.”

  The tolerated physical contact ended there, followed shortly thereafter by Tracy’s fist driving its way into his solar plexus. Then for a little while, nothing of interest happened, so we’ll just skip ahead to when something does.

  It may or may not have to do with sex.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Nearly everyone likes sex. Mentioning sex at the end of a chapter is certain to get at least 80 percent of book readers to continue reading, even if no sex actually occurs. The remaining 20 percent will see through this ruse and put the book down out of disgust at being manipulated.”

  “Of course, you can use reverse psychology to keep most of those types interested. The smart ones hate being predictable.”

  —Muses Erato and Calliope, 2010 Topeka Writers’ Conference

  THERE WERE ONLY THREE of them now: the redhead, the brunette, and the blond guy. Thad supposed he should have listed the blond guy first since Thad’s mother had sent him out here to track him, but it was the redhead who drew his eye. She was gorgeous and possessed such an exquisite figure that she clearly worked out at least as much as Thad did to attain his own gorgeous physique.

  The brunette was passable, Thad supposed. She could probably look pretty darned hot if she tried. Except she wasn’t trying, which meant he was out of her league. Also, the glasses were a turnoff.

  Lousy luck catching sight of the redhead out here in the middle of nowhere. A woman like that called for restaurants and hotel rooms luxuriant enough for Thad to flaunt his wealth, but out here in East Bugsquat, Nevada, he’d have to rely on his looks alone. That still meant there was a formidable arsenal of seduction at his disposal, but chasing people through the sticks could dull even someone of his caliber. His skin was dusty, his shoes were dirty, and sweat offended his clothes after his pursuit of the group that had moved so impossibly fast on foot across the wilderness. He supposed it gave him a rugged, heroic look that all the advertisers wanted lately, but a real “rugged look” came from at least an hour in makeup. This was just sweaty crap.

  Damn, but his feet ached! Thad looked forward to charming his way into the redhead’s tent and the foot massage she’d surely be happy to give him. For starters. What better vantage point was there from which to keep an eye on Karl Leifferwhatsit? He would spend just a few more minutes crouched behind the bushes to watch their camp, plan his approach, and fix his hair. Then he would make his presence known.

  Leifferwhatsit was already dozing. His head rested at the edge of his own tent. The brunette sat on a rock by the fire, examining some bit of jewelry. The redhead was on another rock, one hand back behind her, legs crossed, and posing in a way Thad had to admire out of sheer professionalism.

  Definitely a model. Excellent. Easy icebreaker.

  The dark-haired man Thad had spotted with them earlier seemed to have split the scene without taking the redhead along. Thad couldn’t imagine why. Maybe he was gay. Good for him.

  “Can I see that?” the redhead asked with a gesture toward the amulet. “I’ll give it right back.” The brunette glanced back, hesitant. Her expression was similar, Thad thought, to the look most women gave him when they had to leave his company: so very reluctant. The redhead continued, “I’m not going anywhere. I just wonder if it might show me something it didn’t show you since I’m . . .”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. Clearly the redhead didn’t want to say just how much more beautiful she was than the brunette. It was sensitive of her, trying to spare the other’s feelings. Thad smiled. Sensitive women were a godsend; they were that much easier to beguile.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” the other answered. “I just have this feeling that I can’t let it go, not even for a moment. It’s important.” Thad wondered if the amulet was important. “It’s very, very important.” Thad supposed it might be. “I wasn’t even comfortable giving i
t to Apollo, so . . .”

  Hold on. Apollo?

  “Please? It might help.”

  The brunette made a reluctant move to sit beside her and held the amulet’s pendant out without taking it off her neck. Thad inched (pointlessly) closer himself, suddenly torn between possible redheaded conquest and having an excuse to get himself back to Vegas. Apollo was a god; Thad was sure of that one. God of . . . he didn’t know, amulets? Whatever. If another god was interested in the trinket and the brunette wouldn’t part with it, his mother would want to get her hands on it. Yet charming it away from the brunette would possibly forfeit his chance at the redhead. Maybe if the brunette took it off and gave it to the redhead, he could time his entrance to stun them both into forgetting about who had it and he could focus on . . .

  The redhead peered through the center of the gemstone and let out a gasp.

  “What, what do you see?”

  “Everything’s all purpley!” said the redhead. “What? It’s pretty! . . . Oh lighten up, Mopey Longstockings—it’s a joke.”

  The brunette muttered something he couldn’t hear, tugged the amulet away, and returned to her seat. The brief hope that she would indeed give it to the redhead dropped like a towel in a sauna. He’d have to keep his sights on the brunette if he wanted it. Maybe that was even for the best. It might be just the trick to make the redhead jealous enough to compete for his attention. If he played things properly he could take care of her too, before stealing away with the amulet in the middle of the night. He loved those sorts of challenges.

  Except for the “middle of the night” bit, really. So scratch that; it was already pretty late anyway, and he’d want to take his time. Early morning, then. Though sleeping in sounded pretty good, and he didn’t have either the tents or the sleeping bags that they did . . .

  So. He’d seduce the brunette, make the redhead jealous, have some fun and a good long rest, and then steal off sometime after breakfast with the amulet. Before anyone was the wiser, he’d be back to a place where he could get a good mojito. Thad ran his fingers through his hair and put on his sexiest disinterested face. It was entirely possible they’d be so happy to see him that they’d eat him up immediately.