by Maz Evans
The Ram stared incredulously at his brother before turning his dark gaze back to the Council.
‘Why are we here?’ he said.
‘We are aware that you have served an exceptionally long sentence,’ said Aries. ‘You have had time to reflect on your crimes and we’re sure you’re sorry.’
‘We are,’ said The Brain. ‘Sorry we got caught.’
He received another great shove from his brother.
‘Remorse . . . excellent,’ floundered Cancer. ‘We’d like to give you the opportunity to improve your conditions. If you help us, we are prepared to upgrade your maximum security sentence and allow you to roam openly in Tartarus.’
‘Great!’ shouted The Brain. ‘That’ll be much easier to escape from!’
He was silenced by a colossal smack around the ear from The Ram.
‘What about these?’ said The Ram, pointing to the gold fetter around his left ankle.
The Councillors looked nervously at each other.
‘They would be removed,’ said Leo. ‘Subject to your satisfactory service.’
‘What are those?’ Virgo whispered to Libra.
‘Muscle inhibitors,’ said Libra, weighing two scones on her scales. ‘They limit their strength. Without them, they’d be unstoppable.’
‘And we’re going . . . to take them off ?’ said Virgo.
‘Only once they’ve told us we can trust them,’ said Libra, tapping her nose. ‘Foolproof.’
Virgo found herself wondering if her fellow Councillors actually knew what fools were. She looked back up at The Ram, who was smiling at his brother.
‘At your service,’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ said Taurus, with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. He signalled to Cancer to continue.
‘The law is very clear,’ said the crab, balancing her glasses on her head. ‘We cannot make a change to the Sacred Code without a unanimous vote from all Council members, even suspended ones. This includes you, Virgo. We are all agreed. We just need one more vote.’
‘So,’ glowered Taurus. ‘Are you with us?’
Virgo slumped back on her sofa with a slow breath. This was immense. If she agreed, anyone could be placed in Tartarus without questioning. By the Titans. This wasn’t just sub-optimal. It was wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t.’
Taurus snorted angrily. He nodded to Aries, who placed a small golden box in front of Virgo.
‘We feared you might say that,’ he said. ‘So might I remind you that we still hold this.’
Taurus flipped the lid open. It contained a necklace with a crystal pendant, a heart within a flame. A kardia. Her kardia – the source of her immortality. Virgo felt her heart swell with longing. There was nothing she wanted more in all the worlds than to have her kardia back. Not even the overpriced scented pencil cases she’d observed at school and had been curiously desperate to obtain.
It felt like for ever since she had felt it around her neck. And yet here it was, within her grasp. She could just imagine it back where it belonged. She could just imagine herself, back where she belonged.
She raised her fingers to touch her precious kardia . . .
SNAP!
The box slammed shut. She looked up. Taurus was looming over her, his nostrils flaring like sails on a stormy ship.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Are you part of the team? Or aren’t you?’
Virgo cowered in her seat. She’d never noticed how big Taurus was before. Nor that his tuft of hair was actually a really bad wig.
‘Y-you said I had be a hero,’ she stammered. ‘To regain my kardia – you said I had to be a hero.’
‘But can’t you see, child?’ said Aries, sitting on the other side of her sofa. ‘There are many ways to be a hero! What we do here is heroic too! Saving the world from dangerous immortals – what could be more heroic than that?’
‘Not all heroes have swords,’ said Pisces, sitting on the other side of Virgo. ‘Some have staplers.’
‘If you vote for this resolution and we successfully round up all these dangerous immortals – well, we’d have no choice but to return your kardia,’ said Cancer.
Virgo considered her position. Her kardia back! Her immortality returned! Her silver hair restored! Her need to eat broccoli removed!
She tried to swallow. But her mouth was curiously dry.
Taurus returned to his seat at the head of the table.
‘And so, let’s put it to a vote,’ he said grimly. ‘All in favour of Cole’s Law, raise a hand.’
Virgo watched as twelve hands shot into the air.
And with a heart that felt as if it had met a full-grown gorgon, Virgo’s rose slowly to join them.
3. One of Those Days
Elliot watched the hands on the kitchen clock continue their never-ending journey towards 11 a.m. His heart was quivering, the unpleasant taste of fear clogged the back of his throat.
He looked over at Josie, staring into the flames in her favourite armchair by the fire. She did that a lot now. Just . . . stared. Athene and Aphrodite had done their best to help Josie look her best, fixing her hair and make-up and dressing her in her favourite red dress. But the make-up looked wrong – as though someone had coloured in a fading portrait. Elliot remembered Mum dancing in that dress at one of his birthday parties – the skirt had danced on air around her. But the dress wasn’t dancing today. It looked very, very tired.
‘Everything OK, Mum?’ He smiled and took her hand.
Josie raised her head, as if hearing a forgotten song. She turned slightly towards Elliot, but said nothing. She was having a quiet day. Elliot kissed her softly. Quiet was good, he reassured himself. Or at least better than confused, angry or tearful.
The Gods had hidden themselves in the shed with Hermes, and Dad was out in the fields. It was just him and Mum. It felt like a long time since that had been his life.
The knock at the front door reverberated through his body. Hephaestus had disabled the magical fence that protected Home Farm and Elliot had forgotten that his visitors would be able to come right up to the door. He suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. Perhaps sending the Gods away had been a mistake?
There was a second gentle knock. It was too late now.
He took a slow breath, pinned a smile to his lips and opened the front door.
‘Hi, Elliot,’ Ms Givings, the school welfare officer, said warmly. ‘This is my colleague, Mr Trick.’
Elliot recognized the petite, red-haired Ms Givings from their last meeting at Brysmore. Mr Trick was new – as were his designer jeans, shirt and jacket. Elliot imagined his nan eyeing the visitor up and down. ‘Money can’t buy taste,’ she would have muttered.
‘Hey there, Elliot,’ said the man, in that strange tone that adults use when they have no idea how to speak to a child. ‘Can we come hang for a bit?’
‘Sure,’ said Elliot, accepting Mr Trick’s high-five. ‘Er . . . hang all you want.’
He led them through to the front room.
‘Hello, Mrs Hooper.’ Ms Givings stretched out her hand to shake Josie’s. ‘Lovely to meet you.’
Elliot held his breath as Josie stared at Ms Givings’s hand. She slowly raised hers and held it. Elliot exhaled. Had that taken too long? Had Ms Givings noticed?
‘So, Elliot – cool digs you have here,’ said Mr Trick, pointing his fingers like a gun. ‘Why don’t you give me the grand tour?’
‘In a minute,’ said Elliot, who had no intention of leaving Mum alone with these people for a single second longer than was absolutely necessary. ‘I’ll just make some tea.’
‘Groovy,’ sang Mr Trick, putting both thumbs up. ‘Milk, no sugar, purlease. I’m sweet enough!’
Elliot tried to laugh. It wasn’t easy.
‘Your home is lovely, Mrs Hooper,’ said Ms Givings, settling herself on the sofa. ‘Have you always lived here?’
‘Our family has,’ Elliot called from the kitchen, urging the kettle to boil s
o he could get back in the front room. ‘Generations of Hoopers have lived here.’
‘How wonderful,’ said Ms Givings to Josie. ‘I bet these walls could tell a few stories.’
Josie smiled, but said nothing.
‘So, as our letter explained,’ said Ms Givings, pulling out a notebook, ‘today is just an informal chat, a chance to get to know you both and make sure you have everything you need. Is that OK?’
Josie simply stared.
‘Great,’ said Ms Givings.
Elliot raced back into the room. The kettle was taking too long. He tried not to stare at the welfare officer. If she’d noticed anything was wrong, she was doing a good job of hiding it.
‘Hey, El – how’s about that tour?’ said Mr Trick, with a smile that could strain spaghetti. ‘Wanna show me around your bachelor pad?’
‘I’d love to,’ Elliot lied, opening the biscuit tin. ‘Would you like a bisc—Argh!’
‘Dude!’ said Mr Trick, probably for the first time in his life. ‘Everything OK?’
Elliot slammed the lid back on the tin.
‘Plop!’ came a small squeal from inside.
‘Sorry, buddy?’ said Mr Trick.
‘I said “plop” – please excuse my language,’ said Elliot quickly, holding the lid firmly over Gorgy. ‘These biscuits are stale. I’ll just get some more. They’re . . . er, in the shed.’
He looked anxiously over at Josie and Ms Givings. He’d only be a second. And he had to get rid of the infant gorgon belching on Bourbons.
‘Cool and the gang!’ said Mr Trick. ‘Say – mind if I use the little boys’ room?’
‘Sure,’ said Elliot. ‘First door on the left.’
Elliot opened the front door as calmly as he could and closed it quietly behind him. As soon as he was clear of any windows, he sprinted over to the shed.
‘Zeus!’ he hissed. ‘Athene! Aphrodite! Anyone!’
‘Everything OK?’ whispered a nearby pitchfork.
‘I need you to take this – I need to get back to Mum. Now!’ he hissed urgently.
With a pop, the pitchfork turned back into Zeus, who took the tin from Elliot.
‘Lovely thought, old chap – but you really didn’t need to bring us a snack,’ said Zeus, lifting the lid.
‘Nooooo!’ cried Elliot, a half-second too late.
‘PLOP!’ squealed Gorgy jubilantly, bouncing out of the tin and running across the shed, leaving a trail of crumbs.
‘Argh!’ cried Elliot. ‘I have to go. Catch him – and don’t let him anywhere near the house!’
‘All over it,’ said Hephaestus, transforming from a table with his repaired axe.
Elliot pelted across the paddock, took a second to steady his breath, then let himself calmly into the house. The opening chords of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony rang out through the hallway.
‘What was that?’ asked Ms Givings kindly.
‘Novelty toilet seat,’ said Elliot. ‘We love a joke, Mum and I. I’m sorry – the biscuits have . . . run out.’
‘You’re doing me a favour,’ laughed Ms Givings. ‘I eat far too many. Occupational hazard . . . So, Josie – may I call you Josie?’
Josie twitched at the sound of her name, but said nothing.
‘Of course you can,’ said Elliot, taking Josie’s hand. ‘Mum hates standing on ceremony, don’t you, Mum?’
‘Yes,’ laughed Josie suddenly.
Elliot couldn’t resist smiling at Ms Givings. See? Perfectly normal.
‘Wow – so let’s totally check out the rest of the house!’ said Mr Trick, appearing in the front room again. He was such a freak.
‘Listen, this is a bit awkward,’ Elliot began, ‘but Mum doesn’t . . . she doesn’t like me being alone with strangers. Do you, Mum?’
He released her hand and noticed it was slightly pink. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been squeezing it.
‘Whatever you think,’ Josie replied. She often said this when she didn’t know what to do. Today, Elliot was very grateful.
‘And besides,’ said Elliot, warming to his theme, ‘at school we were told that we shouldn’t be alone with an adult we don’t know.’
Ha! A watertight excuse.
‘I’m glad you were paying attention,’ said Ms Givings, shaking her head slightly at Mr Trick. ‘You’re a very responsible young man. Let’s all stay here. The tea will go cold.’
‘Right! The tea!’ said Elliot, before Mr Trick could attempt another high-five. He ran into the kitchen, quickly poured the boiled water into the teapot and threw some mugs on a tray.
‘Spoons,’ he said under his breath.
Immediately, the cutlery drawer shot open and out flew four teaspoons.
Elliot jumped. The Gods were supposed to have switched all the magic off. Couldn’t they do anything right? He froze – no one seemed to have noticed. Lucky escape.
He took the tray through to the front room and laid the cups on the table.
‘Tea!’ Josie exclaimed. ‘How lovely!’
Well done, Mum, Elliot thought. Just keep it together for a bit longer.
‘So, who would like—’
A flash of green shot past the window, followed by a large bronze axe. Elliot froze.
‘Elliot?’ said Ms Givings.
‘Dude?’ said Mr Trick.
‘That tour!’ Elliot said, plonking everything back on the tray. ‘Let’s go upstairs!’
‘But I thought you . . .’ said Mr Trick, looking helplessly at Ms Givings.
‘It’s fine if we go together!’ said Elliot, his voice far too high. ‘I mean – Ms Givings is the school welfare officer!’
‘True,’ she said, with a nervous laugh. ‘Let’s go, then. Josie?’
‘Oh, let’s leave Mum here to enjoy the tea,’ said Elliot, gesturing towards the door. ‘It’s not like she hasn’t seen upstairs! Come on!’
He ushered Ms Givings and Mr Trick out of the room. He risked a glance out of the window on the stairs. Hephaestus was looking blankly around the paddock. Where was Gorgy?
‘On the left we have the bathroom,’ he said, seeing the blacksmith dart off, ‘then Mum’s room is there, mine is here and Vir . . . Anna’s is over there.’
‘Yes – where is Anna today?’ said Ms Givings. ‘I was hoping to see her.’
‘Really?’ frowned Elliot.
‘Really,’ said Ms Givings.
Elliot wracked his brain for another lie. Even he was struggling at this pace.
‘She’s got . . . a piano lesson. She sends her apologies. You did say it was an informal chat . . .’
‘Absolutely,’ said Ms Givings reassuringly. ‘We can catch up another time. It must be fun having a cousin your own age around. Who’s the eldest?’
‘Oh, she is,’ said Elliot, thinking of his 1,964-year-old housemate. ‘And every day’s certainly an experience with her. Is there anywhere else you’d like to see?’
‘Would you mind if we had a peek at your room?’ asked Ms Givings. ‘Just being nosy, really . . .’
‘Sure,’ said Elliot. ‘I should warn you, though – it’s a bit messy . . .’
‘I’d be concerned if it wasn’t!’ laughed Ms Givings. ‘A tidy thirteen-year-old boy? That would be something to worry about!’
‘Oh, you’ll be really happy, then!’ said Elliot, trying to open his door against the wall of belongings he’d stuffed in there.
‘This is so cool, dude!’ said Mr Trick, walking around Elliot’s unremarkable bedroom as if he’d stepped on to the moon. ‘I bet you get up to all kinds of—’
‘Owwweeeeeee!’ came a pained squeal from beneath his left shoe.
‘What was that?’ said a startled Mr Trick. ‘And what’s this?’ He peeled his foot off the floor, leaving a trail of green slime.
Elliot spotted Gorgy’s bottom poking out beneath a discarded jumper.
‘I, er, have a . . . paper cut,’ said Elliot, snatching his finger to his mouth. ‘You know how they are – always stinging. And I’m
really sorry, I’ve had a stinking cold . . . I warned you it was a mess. Am I in trouble?’
‘No, Elliot, not at all,’ said Ms Givings, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Elliot thought she gave Mr Trick a warning stare.
‘Er, yeah – my room was just the same,’ said Mr Trick, bending to pick up the jumper.
‘Bad plop man!’ squealed the jumper, as Gorgy pulled it out of Mr Trick’s hands.
‘What did you say?’ asked Ms Givings.
‘Sorry,’ said Elliot, dropping a pillow on Gorgy. ‘I just don’t like people touching my stuff.’
He sighed. This was exhausting. He needed to get these people out of his house.
‘Well – that’s all there is to see here,’ he said, ushering the two adults out on to the landing. ‘I’m sorry there’s not much more to show you. We don’t have a big house . . .’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Ms Givings, her eyes full of reassurance. ‘I can see why you love it so much.’
Elliot sneaked a quick look out of the window. No sign of Hephaestus. Time for the welfare officers to leave.
‘Let’s go back downstairs,’ he said brightly. ‘Don’t want your tea to get cold.’
‘Of course,’ agreed Ms Givings. Elliot tried to analyse her again. She wasn’t giving anything away.
‘So as you can see, we’re really boring,’ Elliot said, as he followed Ms Givings and Mr Trick down the stairs. ‘Aren’t we, Mum?’
Josie didn’t reply.
‘Don’t go all shy on us again, Mum!’ called Elliot nervously.
His blood froze at the empty chair in the front room. Where had Josie gone?
‘Ah – Mum must have nipped down to the shops,’ he said quickly. ‘We’re all out of . . . milk!’
At his command, the fridge door flew open, revealing a door full of semi-skimmed.
‘Oh,’ he said, feeling the dread creep up his chest. ‘Must get that fridge door fixed.’
Ms Givings nodded to Mr Trick.
‘Elliot, thank you so much for having us today,’ she said. ‘We’ve taken up quite enough of your time.’
Elliot hesitated. They were leaving voluntarily. Was that a good thing?
‘Oh, OK,’ he mumbled. ‘Thanks for coming to see us. Do come . . . again.’
‘We will,’ said Ms Givings, giving him another inscrutable smile. ‘See you soo—’