by Raye Wagner
Thanatos narrowed his eyes. “You will not be the only one hunting her, Hermes.”
“Is that a threat?” Hermes glared at the dark god. “Get out of here. Now.”
The god of death stepped into a shadow and disappeared.
Hermes faced his son. “Find the girl. You have a few months at most, if Hades sends his Skia.” He paused momentarily. “Bring her to a temple. And Athan, I want her alive.”
He grimaced at the reminder of his past. “She’s a monster, Dad.”
Hermes laughed, but it was manic and brash. “Are you afraid?”
Even if he were, he wouldn’t admit it. “It won’t be easy to get her to a temple.”
“Just find her. I’m going to take this Sphinx to the Underworld. Perhaps I can talk Hades out of getting involved. I don’t know what he would hope to gain.” The last was mumbled, a question for the universe.
“I thought Oedipus killed the Sphinx in Thebes,” Athan said.
Hermes’s eyes narrowed. “So we were told, and therein lies the riddle.”
“Why do you care, Dad?”
“I hate Apollo.” The venom in his answer singed the air. “He’s an arrogant ass who meddles where he shouldn’t.”
Since when had the gods cared about mortals, monsters, or even their demigod children, except as their personal playthings? There was something more.
Hermes took the soul’s hand and looked her in the eye. “We’ll find your daughter.” Then he turned to Athan. “Start a fire. Make it look like a Skia attack. I’ll meet you at the portal in two hours.”
“Skia?” The shadows of Hades didn’t kill monsters, did they?
Hermes’s lips thinned. “I want as little attention as possible on the Sphinx until I know what Apollo is up to. If it looks like Skia attacked, everyone will assume it was just another demigod killed.”
“But once the mortals find her body . . .” He pointed at the creature.
“The body will shift again once her soul leaves this world. Curses from this realm will not hold in death.”
Interesting. “If I wait until her daughter comes home—”
Hermes rolled his eyes. “Remember, whoever she was talking to is on their way here.” He pointed at the phone on the floor. “And, when they get here . . . It’s likely the mortal law enforcement will be called. If you want to wait, at least be smart about it. I’ll see you soon.”
Hermes turned to the spirit of the Sphinx.
“Wait, Dad! Which portal? Where are we?”
Hermes turned back to his son. “Bellevue, Washington.” With that, Hermes and the womanly apparition teleported from the apartment.
Bellevue. He’d heard of it. A suburb of Seattle, not too far from the conservatory downtown. He took a deep breath and turned to his task: a fire.
By the time he got outside, he could see the flames licking the windows.
As he reached the parking lot, a gray sedan pulled up. A dark-haired woman flung open the door and ran toward the building, nearly colliding with him.
“Best be careful,” he warned, and pulled her to a stop.
Her body went rigid with the contact.
Acrid smoke filled the air. It would be only seconds before—the window exploded. The woman wrenched free from his grasp and ran.
Flames greedily lapped at the sides of the building, and, in the distance, Athan could hear the sirens wail.
HER CHUBBY LEGS swung against the warm wood, her feet dangling above the ground. She turned to her mother.
“Please? I promise I won’t tell them.” Her eyes begged, and her little heart thrummed with anticipation. All she wanted was to play tag with the other kids.
“I’m sorry baby. It’s just not safe.” Her mom’s hand brushed over her long blond hair. “How about I push you on the swing?”
Hope shook her head. “No. I don’t want to swing.”
“Then how about the slide?”
The slide was for babies. “No, thank you.”
“Then what do you want to do?” Her mom slid off the bench and knelt in front of her.
Their golden eyes met, and Hope risked the truth. “I just want to be like the other kids.”
“Oh, baby.” Her mother frowned. “It’s not possible. The curse . . .”
Hope had heard it before. She would never be normal. She would never be safe.
“It’s not fair!” She scowled at her mom’s pretty face.
“Nope. It’s not. But it is what it is, Hope.” Her mom stood up and extended her hand.
With a sigh, she slid from the bench. “When I grow up, I’m going to break the curse,” she announced.
“You are probably just clever enough to do it, sweet girl.”
Hope swung their joined hands. “And then we can play at the playground whenever we want. And have lots of friends.”
Suddenly, her mother jerked Hope’s arm to a stop and swung the girl up into her arms.
“We need to go.”
As her mom turned toward the car, Hope saw a man staring at them. Ice-blue eyes narrowed in on hers, and her heart began to race. The man was very big, and strange black tattoos covered his arms. He bared his teeth.
She didn’t want to ask, but something was wrong. “Why is that man mad?”
No answer. Her mother quickened her pace.
Hope’s hands started to feel wet, and her mouth dried up. “Mom, he’s . . .”
The pounding of her mother’s feet matched the hammering of her heart. Louder and louder.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The vision started to fade.
“Hope, are you awake?” Her mother whispered, as she brushed the hair from Hope’s face.
“Mfft.” Hope rolled over, pulling the covers over her head.
“Come on, baby. It’s time to go.”
The covers disappeared, replaced by cold air. Hope peeled her eyes open and glanced at the clock. Four thirty! “Just five more minutes, Mom?” she pleaded, her voice still thick with sleep.
“You have exactly five, baby.”
Her mom stood up and walked to the door of Hope’s room.
The soft tread faded, and Hope’s eyes fluttered shut. Was it a dream? A memory?
“If we are going to make it out of the city before sunrise, we need to be on the road in fifteen.” Her mom’s voice floated across the room. “Otherwise, we’ll be stuck here.”
Hope sat up. There was no way she wanted to spend the next two days in the apartment. No way.
Throwing off the covers, she swung out of bed, the cold air nipping at her bare legs. Grabbing her sweats off the floor, she pulled them on and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her socks and tie her shoes. She shoved her notebook and iPad into her backpack on top of clean underwear. Heading for the door, she tugged her hoodie off the chair by her desk.
“I’m ready.” She pulled her hair into a messy knot as she walked into the kitchen.
Hope’s mom, Leto, stood in the kitchen putting sandwiches into her overnight bag. “Let’s go.”
The early morning hours were dim and quiet as they drove up Highway 18 toward I-90. Hope rested her head against the window of her mom’s Prius. The cold seeped from the glass into her skin, the chill keeping her awake.
Leto pulled off at the top of the pass, drove past the closed ski area, the shrine for Boreas, god of winter, and down an access road until they hit gravel, then dirt.
When the sky began to lighten, they both got out of the vehicle and began undressing. Hope’s teeth chattered as she glanced over at her mom, who was stretching up to the sky. There! The first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon.
The pressure in her back built until it felt like she was being squeezed into a corset, and then . . . Whoosh. Her wings unfurled. Her legs cramped, the muscles seized, and her human legs folded, replaced by lion-like haunches. Her skin tingled. A million fire ants were biting, biting, biting . . . Finally, the pain dissipated and soft golden fur appeared on her breasts, torso, and lower extre
mities. The change was over.
Hope glanced over her shoulder at her amber wings, the crimson-tipped feathers looked like they’d been dipped in blood.
“Are you ready to fly?” Her mom came around the car on her paws and hands.
Hope laughed. “Are you kidding?” She loved to fly, loved the freedom of it. Relished it. Even craved it.
A sudden strong breeze almost lifted her off the ground.
“Careful,” her mom cautioned.
As Hope pumped her wings, a gust pulled her away from the earth, and she was airborne.
The sky in the east was pale blue with feathers of yellow, as the two Sphinxes flew over the mountain range.
“Where to?” Leto’s voice carried over the wind and tickled Hope’s ears with possibilities.
“Somewhere warm.”
Leto’s laugh was crisp, like the air. “It’s only cold because we’re on the top of the pass. South it is, then.”
As the sun climbed, the air warmed. The two creatures flew, weaving away from populated areas. They passed the blackened skin of earth where a forest fire had raged, and the snowy caps of Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and then Mount Hood. Her mom pointed each of them out, as if giving a geography lesson.
“Getting tired?” Leto dropped lower in anticipation.
“Not yet. Let’s go just a little further.”
The air was much warmer at the lower elevation, and rivulets of sweat tickled Hope’s skin as they dripped down her neck. She stared ahead at Mount Bachelor, the bright whiteness looming as they drew closer.
“HOPE!”
Her eyes jumped to where her mother was, just ahead of her, only to find empty air.
Time seemed to slow. The hum of an engine, way too close. Her mother yelling her name. The sun suddenly too hot, and her skin chilled with panic.
Her mother was above her.
“What in the name of the gods is that?”
The voice was male. And very likely human.
“Get your phone!”
“Get a picture!”
Hope pulled up, beating her wings as fast as she could.
BAM! A huge branch dropped from the sky, right on the hood of the car. The tires squealed, and curses issued from the windows.
“Hera and Zeus!” her mother cursed, and dropped a second branch. “What are you doing?” She motioned for Hope to follow her.
Shame burned Hope’s cheeks, but her heart continued an erratic rhythm of panic. The two flew over a copse of trees and into the foothills of the Cascades.
“I called your name at least three times. What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t hear you,” Hope said.
Leto looked around, pointed at a clearing in the trees, and dropped to land.
Hope landed several feet from her mother and braced herself.
“What’s the first thing I taught you? You’ve got to be aware of your surroundings. Your vision, your hearing, your reflexes are useless if you aren’t paying attention. I won’t always be there to rescue you. If we’re ever found out, they’ll kill us! Zeus Almighty!”
Her mom was right. All of her supernatural powers would be worthless if she wasn’t paying attention. And had those men been demigods, they could have killed her; it had been that close.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t keep you safe.”
Hope nodded.
“If you aren’t going to pay attention, maybe we should stay inside the apartment when—”
“No! Please. I’ll pay attention from now on. I promise.”
“We can’t afford mistakes.” Leto stalked over on her hands and haunches, her feline grace suited to her wooded surroundings. She put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and their gold eyes met. “Please. Please, be more careful.”
They spent the entire two days in the clearing, surrounded by tall pines, moss, and wild grasses. When it was time to fly back to the car, neither said anything, but they flew high, close to the mountains, far away from human eyes.
They were in the car driving back to Kent when Hope remembered her dream.
“Mom, when I was little did we go to the park a lot?”
Her mom nodded. “Up until you were almost six. Why?”
She ignored her mom’s question. “Why did we stop going?”
“You outgrew it.” Leto’s words were sharp. “We got busy with your education, and then we moved. And it wasn’t like you could be friends with any of the kids anyway.”
Hope nodded. “Right.” That part rang true. No friends.
“HITLER?” MR. BURTON’S gaze swept over his students.
“Ares, god of war.” A male voice answered the implied question. “Supposedly.”
“And Marie Curie?”
“Athena.”
“Good. Very good. You should all do very well on your quiz tomorrow. Now, shifting gears. How many of you know the story of the Sphinx?”
Hope refused to raise her hand. If she’d known class was going to be about her, she would’ve slept in.
Mythology, like English and math, was required all four years of high school. And if she lived in the same blissful denial as the rest of the students, it might have been fun to learn about “mythology.”
Hope glanced at her classmates.
Most of them would live their entire lives believing the gods had withdrawn from humanity, with the exception of the occasional demigod offspring. Most would never to be bothered by a deity. Never have to worry about immortal hunters. Never feel the curse of the gods. She sighed.
As it stood, her sophomore mythology class, Of Men and Monsters, was turning out to be thoroughly depressing. Even so, she was getting a solid A.
She drew a daisy on the margin of her paper and then connected it with the other ten already there. She shaded in the leaves, waiting for Mr. Burton to continue.
“Hey. Hope.”
Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she glanced over into the eager face of Caidyn Brown.
“Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” His dark skin contrasted with his bright smile.
She could feel the corner of her lip responding. “Sure. Just a sec.” She reached into her bag, her hand pushing aside keys and paper. She grasped two thin cylinders and held out his options. One was pink and glittery, a gift from her mother, the other a standard yellow number two bought in bulk at the beginning of the year.
“Pink and sparkles?” He took the proffered pencil. “It must be my lucky day.”
She snorted. Because what man didn’t like pink? “If you like it that much, keep it.”
“Eyes up here, people.” Mr. Burton’s voice interrupted.
She turned to face the board where Mr. Burton wrote Sphinx in red.
“All right. How many of you have heard of the Sphinx?” He turned back to the class.
A few hands went up.
“What is it?”
Hope shifted in her seat.
“A monster.”
“A cursed person.”
“A figment of your imagination.”
The last commenter got raised eyebrows.
“The Sphinx was a monster.” Mr. Burton threw a miniature candy bar at the student who’d given the correct answer. “And a monster, in mythology, is . . .”
Several hands went up.
“Yes, Gage.”
“A monster is a mixed breed created by a god.”
Candy flew through the air.
“And what was the Sphinx?” His eyes roamed the room. “Alani.”
“Lion and eagle.”
He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “What else?”
The room was silent.
“Human.” She said it. She didn’t even know why. She’d gone the entire semester without saying much of anything. And she didn’t even like chocolate.
Mr. Burton nodded his approval and tossed another silver wrapper.
“You going to eat that?” Caidyn whispered.
She held the
candy out, and he took it. “Thanks.”
Their eyes locked, and she had the distinct feeling that precipitated the change into her other form. Excitement. Trepidation. Shuddering, she forced her attention back on her instructor.
“There is significant debate regarding the Sphinx,” Mr. Burton continued. “Some say she was born of monsters: Orthrus, Chimera, Typhon, or Echidna.” He wrote the names on the board.
Her heart beat faster and her palms began to tingle with the desire to hit something. “Maybe the Sphinx was human,” she blurted. “Maybe she was cursed.”
“Maybe.” Mr. Burton tossed more candy at her, but she slumped back into her seat and made no move to catch the treats.
As Mr. Burton’s Q&A continued, Hope tuned out. She knew her history. How her grandmother sat outside of Thebes questioning every man who wanted to enter the city. She asked the same riddle to each, and when they couldn’t answer, she strangled them.
What the myth lost through time was how her grandmother, who was actually the granddaughter of Hera, was hiding in Thebes from a son of Apollo who was determined to kill her. While she was there, she fell in love. But her lover was killed as she tried to defend the city. Mad with grief, and attempting to protect Thebes, she wouldn’t let strangers into the city. The myth told nothing of her pain.
And Oedipus? Sure, he came to free the city from the monster, but the myth was wrong, like so many others. The very morning he showed up, Phaidra had killed the demigod who’d been after her. She wasn’t interested in fighting Oedipus. Instead of solving the riddle, he struck a deal with her. She fled, and he got all the glory.
“HOPE?”
Her name brought her back to Mr. Burton’s class, and the now almost-empty classroom. She focused on the glittery pencil drumming on the edge of her desk.
“Hey. Did you want your pencil back?” Caidyn held it out.
She shrugged. “If you want it, you can have it.”
“You sure?” He waved it in front of her as if it were a prize.
She relented with a smile. “Uh-huh. You can keep it.”
It was the longest conversation she’d had in several months at Kentwood.
When her sophomore year started, Hope had been the new pretty girl in school. New and pretty sparked curiosity. But her lack of social skills, and her mom’s insistence that she keep to herself, were a block of concrete in the ocean of interest. Within a few weeks, she was invisible. Again.