Zeus is Dead

by Michael G. Munz

  At least Tracy hoped that’s where the vibrating was coming from.

  The dais sat in the exact center of the balcony, facing the gigantic plasma screen TV. Behind the dais were a few couches, a wet bar, and a Jacuzzi. A mirrored elevator door that led Dionysus-knew-where was built into the balcony’s corner.

  The god was not alone on the balcony. Three women accompanied him, two of whom were dressed as—good grief—cheerleaders. The third wore one of the tightest, shortest little black dresses that Tracy had ever seen. She stood attentively beside the god, holding a laptop with the keyboard and screen facing him, presumably ready for the moment he might wish to use it. The other two women cheered as he furiously worked another game controller and concentrated on the gigantic plasma screen.

  A man stood nearby, as well, built even more solidly than the maître d’ and wearing slacks with a tuxedo T-shirt. He kept one eye on Leif and Tracy as they stepped from the stairs, and the other eye flashed between the game screen and the three women.

  Tracy wondered if that gave him a headache.

  As for Dionysus himself, he looked about how he appeared in magazines: muscularly pudgy with a boyishly handsome face, light brown hair, and—at the moment—wearing only a garland of ivy, sandals, and a pair of bright blue boxer shorts with the words Resplendently convivial! emblazoned on them in gold lettering.

  “Kind of reminds me of Jason,” Leif whispered.

  Tracy shushed him. The pang of grief at the mention of Jason’s name was smaller than expected, as she found herself unable to keep from focusing just a little longer on the god’s chest.

  Thalia’s little mind trick was still working, then, right?

  Leif ignored her shushing. “So are you planning to just stand here or . . . ?”

  A shout from Dionysus cut off her response. “Oh for the love of—! Pass interference! Did you see that? Flag! Flag! Ref! Oh, come on!”

  He chucked the controller away in disgust. It sailed out over the crowd of people below and disappeared as the two cheerleaders rushed in with fawning consolation that the god barely acknowledged. “Cheaters! I ask you, what kind of crap is that? Geez! Call the game’s developer, Electronic . . . something,” he told the woman in the dress. “Tell them if they don’t make a better version by Friday, I’ll drop a whiskey truck on their server farm. And it’ll be empty!”

  It was then that Dionysus noticed Leif and Tracy—or at least Tracy. Immediately his face brightened, game problems forgotten. He spread his arms wide while somehow simultaneously snatching a can of beer from the chair’s fridge.

  “Hel-lo! What have we here? Two new supplicants come to worship and party at the feet of the most awesome god in the entire bunch?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “My goodness, aren’t you a gorgeous sight! You may approach—which is to say c’mere. No-no, just the girl, of course. You stay back by the stairs, that’s a good man. Come, tell me a name to go with those startling blue eyes. And have a beer!”

  Tracy caught the can he tossed and opened it but didn’t drink―she was too focused on finding the right words and hiding her irritation with the “girl” appellation. Respect, ego stroke, put him at ease . . .

  “Most awesome Dionysus, first let me thank you for—”

  “Oh, come on. One sip won’t kill you! Everyone drinks in the presence of Dionysus! You there, towhead! You too! Catch!” He pulled out another beer and chucked it at Leif like a quarterback heaving a pass.

  Leif just managed to catch it. He cracked it open and, with a shrug, took a quick chug.

  Worried about what might be in it, Tracy would have told him to stop, but she supposed it was pointless worrying about things like that when already in the domain of a god.

  “It’s good,” he assured Tracy.

  “Of course it’s good! Am I not a god? One cannot live by wine alone! Now shut up, man. Let the girl speak!”

  Dionysus grinned and sat back in his chair to either listen to Tracy intently or undress her with his eyes. She had to grit her molars and clench her beer a little tighter to keep from protesting. She sipped—a gesture that triggered a waggling of the god’s eyebrows—before clearing her throat and speaking again.

  “I’m Tracy Wallace, producer of the hit show Monster Slayer,” she announced, presenting a business card.

  “Oh, really? You’ll be pleased to know I’ve heard of that! (Go ahead, be pleased! Ah, there you go.) Wonderful work. Would you perhaps be trying to imply that you’re more than just a pretty face?”

  “You’re as perceptive as you are powerful, great Dionysus; I’m definitely trying to imply that. I come bearing gifts, and to beg of you a favor.”

  “Oh, no-no-no, you needn’t get down to business so fast! Have a seat. Have another beer. Bask in the hedonistic glory of the Dionysian Casino and its god!” He beamed. Insufferably so, by her estimation. “C’mere, there’s room on the chair! Think of me as a sexy Santa Claus!”

  Tracy gave no ground beyond another drink of her beer, hoping that might keep her refusal from being insulting. “It’s only out of respect for your glory—which is everything I imagined and more, I can assure you—that I brought it up so fast. I’m sure you’ve got so many demands on your time, I don’t want to waste it.”

  “No-no. C’mere, sit. I insist!” He patted the chair. “You don’t wanna be a poor guest, do you?”

  Tracy hesitated, poised on the edge of shutting down his pick-up attempt and reminding herself that there was no other means to track down Thad. She needed that necklace back. She would give, just a little. Bend but not break and all that garbage. She moved to sit, eschewing the cushion for one of the chair’s armrests and slipping on her glasses as she did so. The veneer of a smile accompanied it all. “Better?”

  “Better!” Dionysus whipped the TV remote out to flip channels before Tracy could say anything. “Oh, you don’t need to put glasses on. It’s a special TV; you can see it just fine no matter how bad your eyes are!”

  “That’s impressive,” she said, “but I—”

  “Quite impressive! Designed it myself! I mean, the idea was mine, someone else did the grunt work. I forget who. So off with the glasses! And that outfit, it’s far too ordinary to be wasted on you. You should try something more flattering.” He pointed at the other women. “Two of my favorites. I should think . . . cheerleader for you. I’m sure I’ve got something in your size.”

  Oh, no God damn way. If it showed on Tracy’s face, Dionysus didn’t notice. He was too busy watching an actual minotaur rampage through the streets of the Spanish town of Pamplona. “No,” she answered, “that’s quite all right. But, thank you for the offer. We really should—”

  The god clapped as the minotaur rammed a runner ahead of him, launching the unfortunate man into the air to crash through a third-story window. “Ha! See that? That’s the fun of being a god. You can just toss a minotaur into the Running of the Bulls and create all sorts of fun. Shame that was plate glass, but he knew what he was getting into.” He turned to Tracy, scolding smoothly, “No cheerleader outfit? How do you know you won’t like it unless you try it?”

  “I have tried it,” she admitted. “So I’m pretty sure. But thank—”

  “Really? Oh, I’m sorry I couldn’t have seen that. Care for a repeat?”

  “I sabotaged my own tryouts, so, no. My mom was a cheerleader,” she found herself saying. “She pushed me into it, and as a matter of fact, you’re starting to sound a bit like her in that regard, got it?”

  “I am? Well that’s a turnoff.”

  Good! She wondered what Dionysus would think if she told him they were half-siblings. Like a lot of bad ideas, it was tempting.

  “We, ah, brought gifts,” Leif offered.

  “You still here?”

  “Yes, gifts!” Tracy presented the champagne. “Our gift to you, with the humble hope you might consider granting our small request.”

  “Oh yes?” Dionysus accepted the bottle with relish. “Does the request involve body sh
ots? Because it depends on if it’s him or you we’re talking about.” He chortled at his own joke and continued before Tracy could comment. “Ah, Dom Pérignon. Excellent year. The French do know their wines, don’t they?”

  “I—”

  “Arrogant bunch, though. I had to flood the entire Loire Valley because they had the gall to disagree with me—me!—on the way to make wine! Can you believe the hubris?”

  “That’s quite—”

  “And very well, so I didn’t have to, but they got far too cocky while we were gone, thinking they could come up with good ideas without a god’s help! Sometimes you’ve got to flex a little muscle now and again, am I right?” Dionysus flexed practically every muscle from the waist up, adding, “No one will blame you for swooning.” He grinned with a wink most men saved for afterglow. “What, that doesn’t impress you? You’re American, you’re supposed to hate the French for some reason, aren’t you? Loosen up, baby!”

  She smiled sweetly. “You know, you remind me of someone I met last night, only more so.” It was only then that she noticed herself looking him over a bit more than she intended.

  “Do I? And who might that charming fellow be?”

  “That’s part of the favor, really. We’re hoping you can help us track down where he’s staying in Vegas. Or if he’s left. And maybe,” she added, deciding to bargain above what she expected to get, “send a goon or two to hold him there until we can speak to him.”

  “Oh-ho, interesting.” He leaned closer, chin resting on his palm. “And what, pray tell, is the lucky fellow’s name?”

  “Thad Winslow. And I wouldn’t call him lucky; we don’t want him for anything pleasant.”

  “I have heard the name, though remembering where and how is another matter, of course. What do you want him for?”

  The god put his hand on her knee. She lifted it off.

  “He took something of mine. A family heirloom. It’s not worth much, but the sentimental value’s incredible. I want it back.”

  “Did he now?” His hand was on her knee again. His gaze caught hers before she could remove it a second time, and the need to do so slipped away in a confusing haze. She felt warm, watching those eyes, those deep, wine-rich eyes. Wasn’t she going to say something? Or do something? She wobbled, suddenly tipsy, unable to concentrate, vaguely conscious of leaning in closer . . .

  “And he kicked me,” Leif added.

  His voice shook Tracy out of the fog. She sat back up, rod straight, and shoved the god’s hand off her knee before she could even think to be gentle about it.

  “Good!” shot Dionysus, annoyed. “I can hardly blame him! Were you hanging around being a third wheel with him too?”

  Leif didn’t answer. Tracy stood up, arms crossed and unsure of what to say either. Dionysus sat back in his chair, half sizing her up, half ogling. She waited him out, hoping the whole idea wasn’t a bust and starting to think about how to get away cleanly if it was.

  Dionysus slowly beamed. “You know, I think I do know this Thad Winslow, come to think of it. I will bring him here before us both, and you, in exchange for this, will don a cheerleader outfit and spend a few hours with me. You might even like it.”

  “Or,” she offered, “there’s a Monster Slayer game coming out next month—multiple platform release, console and PC—and I will get you an advanced copy. I hear it’s good. Downloadable content galore and everything.” Actually she understood that most of it was downloadable content. Purchasing the game got you only a character creator and a credit card interface. It wasn’t her area, but they’d said that was the direction the industry was going.

  “Counteroffer: you get me the advanced copy and . . . consider donning a cheerleader outfit. And spending a few hours with me. An enviable opportunity if I do say so myself. And oh, didn’t I just?”

  Tracy chewed the inside of her lip. “I’ll consider it.”

  “You mean you accept my offer of considering the outfit, or you’ll consider considering?”

  “The first. Bring Thad Winslow here, and I’ll agree to consider it. But could you bring him to a room downstairs somewhere? I don’t want to have to deal with him in front of so many people.” You, especially.

  “Well now, I don’t even know if I have the right Thad Winslow, you know. I have to be sure at first, don’t I? No-no, don’t try to change my mind, you’ve already accepted, and he’s here already for some reason if I’m not mistaken.” He motioned to the woman in the black dress and touched a key on the laptop when she brought it close. “Luthor, that fellow with the urgent appointment you keep telling me about: His name was Thad Winslow, wasn’t it?”

  “It is, my lord,” came the maître d’s voice. “He’s been waiting for quite some time. Shall I send him up?” Tracy began to have a very bad feeling. She moved back toward the stairs a bit, exchanging glances with Leif.

  “Yes, send him up. And . . . tell him there’s someone else who— never mind, just send him up. Quickly now.” He waved the laptop away, grinning drunkenly at Tracy. “We’ll surprise him.”

  “We’ll meet him on the stairs,” Tracy tried, quickly dragging Leif that way. At a look from the god, the tuxedo-shirted man blocked their path.

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!” Dionysus said. “Also it occurs to me that I should probably find out what he wants to see me about first. All play and no work make a god . . . ah, pretty happy, truthfully, but like it or not, I do have my responsibilities. Oh! I know! Here, get behind the screen, both of you!” The god actually giggled. “This’ll be good!”

  Unable to come up with a better option, Tracy tugged Leif behind the TV as requested. There they crouched on the balcony edge above the rest of the party.

  “We’re screwed,” he whispered.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “No, we’re screwed. You know those parts in movies where something bad’s about to happen and someone invariably says, ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ whether it’s appropriate to the conversation or not? Well, I have a bad feeling about this! Why else would Thad be here if he wasn’t going to see one of the gods involved in the whole thing?”

  “It’s a party,” she offered. “He’s a party kind of guy. Maybe he’s just here for the drinks?” She didn’t really buy that herself, but the hope was sincere.

  “Tracy, you’re a smart woman, and I love you, but I’m starting to think that thing Thalia did affected your judgment.”

  “It’s not Thalia; it’s him,” she insisted, nodding toward Dionysus. “Get close to him, and I swear you’ll start feeling tipsy. And knock off the love stuff. We’ve got enough problems already, especially if you’re right.”

  “If I’m right?”

  She leaned out over the edge, looking down. “Maybe we can jump. It’s not too far. Think you can make it to that big trampoline?”

  “Who am I, Mario?”

  “There’s a big couch down there. It’s closer; we might make it.”

  “I’m not jumping!”

  “It’s just plan C, okay? Which means we need a plan B first . . .”

  She could hear Thad greeting Dionysus as he gained the balcony, praising him for the party before the two exchanged pleasantries. Her mind raced as she briefly considered trying to get Leif to temporarily sacrifice himself for the cause, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that.

  “Okay,” she whispered, “if he’s got the amulet out, we . . . grab it and run like hell!”

  “That’s it? Run like hell? That’s worse than ‘Get ’er!’”

  “It’s a work in progress.” Leif was right, though. Plan B sucked. And they were out of time.

  “. . . which actually brings me to why I’m here,” Thad was saying.

  “Why you’re here? Already? Everyone’s all so serious so fast around here today!” cried Dionysus. “Am I losing my touch or something? Fun first! You like fun, don’t you, Thad? Guess who I’ve got behind the TV! Go on, guess!”

  “I—”

  “Wrong! O
ut! Come on out, you two! You’re gonna love this, Thad, really. I’m working on getting her properly dressed, of course, but she’s one of those ‘modern’ girls. Stubborn, hard to get. You know the type.”

  Tracy glanced at Leif, each clearly hoping that the other had come up with a plan, each disappointed. Neither budged. As long as they could stay hidden, it was that much longer they had to think.

  “Hey!” The god called. “Out! That’s your cue! I—oh for pilsner’s sake!”

  The TV abruptly rose up into the ceiling, leaving the two of them completely exposed on the center edge of the balcony. Dionysus sat in his chair, holding a remote and grinning like an idiot. Thad stood closer, not grinning, but still quite like an idiot as far as Tracy was concerned. “Forgot I had a button to do that for a sec!" Dionysus shouted. "Great inventions, buttons.” He gestured to the laptop holder. “Make a note: send Hephaestus a wine basket with my compliments on the whole button idea!”

  Tracy stood, hands on her hips. Thad didn’t have the amulet anywhere in sight, so plan B was out. A pity too, since he still seemed pretty stunned to see her. Maybe she should tackle him anyway before he could say anything incrimina—

  “They’re them!” Thad yelled.

  Tracy made a mental note to think less and act more. A moment later she realized the contradiction but was still too tipsy to figure out how to fix it.

  The god laughed. “Yes, yes, they are! They’re looking for you, did you know that?”

  “No, Dionysus—”

  “Lord Dionysus to you, bud, no matter whose son you are.”

  Tracy pounced at Thad, grappling him about the waist and throwing her entire weight into it. The model stumbled but didn’t go down. Leif sprang into the brawl a moment later. Thad yelled for them to stop, to watch the hair, to get the hell off of him, but Tracy didn’t bother listening. She did her best to rifle through his pockets for the amulet, but the struggle made it difficult. At last she seized upon something that felt right and gripped it tightly just as Dionysus grabbed her by the back of her belt and hauled her off of the man. She dangled in the air as he held her, clutching in her hands what turned out to be Thad’s keys.