The Gods' Day to Die

by David Welch

  “Yes,” said Artemis sternly. “In every combination imaginable.”

  “Oh, I see . . .” Des said.

  Artemis sighed.

  “Desmond, for nearly a thousand years, people thought we were gods. And we—well, we convinced ourselves that we were better than ‘mere’ humans. That maybe we had been born to be their gods, since they aged and died while we kept going. And when you think you’re above all law and all morality, and you live as long as we do . . . well, there aren’t many things you haven’t done.”

  “Well,” Desmond said, taking the words in. “That’s . . . something. I’m not sure what.”

  “It’s not like we had children with family members,” Artemis said defensively. “Well, most of us didn’t, anyway. And it was millennia ago!”

  Desmond nodded, not wanting to think about what else she’d done during her “god years.” He leaned back in his couch.

  “Okay, putting aside all that, what happens now? I mean, if this guy can find you, he’ll probably be able to track me down, so we can’t stay here,” Desmond said.

  “I can’t stay here,” Artemis said. “Desmond, listen. I wish we’d gotten the chance to spend years together, or even a lifetime. I do. But it has to end here. Lenka will kill you simply for being around me. He’s done it before.”

  “And leave you to face him alone? Nonsense,” Desmond replied. He found those words a bit strange at first, given all his recent thoughts about her actually being crazy. But he said them all the same. And he was pretty sure he knew why. You love her, he thought. Wait, wasn’t it ‘like’ her? Oh, damn—

  “I’m not alone, Desmond,” she said. “Besides, even if I was, do you know how much martial arts I’ve studied? How much experience I have in fighting after five thousand years? I love the sentiment, but pragmatically, I’m not sure you’d be all that useful an ally.”

  “I will grant your superior skill,” he said. “But I still have the strength advantage. All the feminists in the world won’t change that reality. And I can shoot a gun well enough.”

  “No, Desmond,” she said. “Following me will ruin your life. Lenka doesn’t care if you are rich or prominent. This man will kill you.”

  “And you think I won’t kill him?” Desmond challenged.

  “You think you can get through two or three dozen armed mercenaries? ’Cause that’s what he usually brings with him,” she said. “Ex-military types. You ever been in combat, Des?”

  “No,” he conceded.

  “A cop?” she pushed.

  “No,” he said, realizing entirely what she was doing.

  “Have you even fired a gun before?”

  “Plenty,” he replied. “Used to go to the range with my father all the time.”

  “The range?” Artemis said, an incredulous smile forming on her lips. “Really?”

  “I can land a head shot at two hundred yards,” he said. “Even won some competitions when I was a teenager. May not be up to Marine standards, but it ain’t nothing.”

  She paused, clearly thinking about it, then shook her head vigorously.

  “No, Desmond,” she said. “I won’t let you. It’s better for you anyway. You’ll have a chance at a normal life—”

  “Normal is boring. I don’t want it,” he said. “I want you.”

  “Well, you can’t always get everything you want,” she replied.

  “I’m not going to abandon you,” he replied.

  “Save the chivalry, Desmond,” she said. “I’ve seen too many men die doing what you’re trying to do.”

  “Those men weren’t me,” he replied.

  “What? You think you’re special?” she demanded.

  “Special? No. But I am unique, as those men were. And you have no idea if what happened to them will happen to me,” he replied.

  “You pig-headed fool,” she grumbled, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t come griping when you get sick of being hunted by psychopaths!”

  He smiled and reached into the bag. He removed a pistol from it and tucked the gun into his pocket.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “We wait until tomorrow,” she said. This struck him as odd, given how alert and afraid she’d been during the drive over. Why wait? He was going to ask but she didn’t give him the chance, going right on with her plan. “Then we go to Ares’ place. He and Aphrodite just moved in three months ago, long after the last time anyone talked to Athena. And she can’t tell him what she doesn’t know.”

  “And where is Ares’ place?”

  “California,” she replied, getting to her feet. “I’ll take first watch. You should get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

  She moved as quietly as possible, holding the front door as it closed so that it made no noise. It was still dark, an hour or so before dawn. She crept toward Desmond’s SUV. She’d found a spare set of keys in his desk when he’d gone to sleep. She didn’t like having to steal from him, but there was no other choice. The man had one chance at life. He didn’t need to get himself shot up trying to defend her. Part of her thought he had more to lose than she did. At twenty-nine, with no wife and no children, there was so much Desmond had yet to experience. She’d experienced all of it, many, many times over. Dying under Lenka’s gun wasn’t exactly Plan A, but she realized that if she did die, he wouldn’t exactly be robbing her of all that much. There weren’t all that many discoveries to discover or experiences to experience when you were five thousand seven hundred and sixty-two years old.

  It did make her a little sad to leave Des, especially like this. He was unique, and regardless of what he said, she knew he was special. Figuring out her secret had been impressive, but the matter-of-fact way he’d handled it had been fascinating. Most people took weeks to accept it, some far longer. Many people she’d loved had learned her secret and then run off, unable to deal with it. Desmond had simply accepted it. Even his initial shock had been, by the standard of others she had told, remarkably restrained.

  He is honest, she remembered. Honest enough to accept the impossible when he saw it, regardless of the thoughts and theories that had been instilled in his mind by society. That kind of flexibility was refreshing, and rare.

  And, she thought with a smirk, he wasn’t that bad in bed either. Clearly not up to the level of her past immortal lovers, with their centuries of experience. But nothing to look down on.

  She came to the car, using the key to unlock it instead of the remote to keep the lights from flashing. She slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door and grasping the wheel. She took a deep, cleansing breath.

  “I’m pretty sure car theft is a felony,” said a familiar voice.

  She spun, looking into the backseat. Desmond lay across it, under a thin fleece blanket.

  “How—how did you get here? You went upstairs?!” she stammered.

  “I’m stealthy like that,” he deadpanned.

  She fought for words for a second, then set her teeth and glared at him.

  “Get out, Desmond,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

  “I know,” he replied. “That’s why I threw a bag in the back. You drive the first leg, wake me up when you’re ready to switch.”

  “Enough, Desmond. I’m serious,” she said.

  “So am I,” he replied. “I’d hate to have to call the police and report my car stolen. I’m sure Lenka would have an easier time getting at you after that.”

  She glowered at him, anger fuming just beneath the surface.

  “What? You didn’t think I’d realize the whole ‘we wait until tomorrow’ thing was to get me out of the way?” he said. “People as worried as you clearly are don’t let a little thing like darkness stop them.”

  She shook her head, turning back to the steering wheel. She brought the car to life and pulled out of the town house parking lot.

 
“You know, I think I’m gonna go back to dating bimbos,” she grumbled as she drove. “They’re far less trouble.”

  Des laughed.

  “You women are all the same . . .”

  10

  Grand Lake, Colorado

  “Well, Ruslan, I see you’ve met my aunt,” Lenka said, walking into the basement of Artemis’ house. “I thought I asked you to observe and confirm that she was here.”

  “She came back unexpectedly,” Ruslan replied. “I had to improvise.”

  “Never your strong point,” said Lenka grimly.

  Ruslan shrank back into a corner, the shadow hiding the dark bruise on his forehead where Artemis had struck him. Lenka shook his head sadly, and moved toward the center of the room. They had brought Athena down here, so that no neighbors would hear when they decided to have a “talk” with her. Alexi waited nearby with a briefcase, all his tools inside.

  “Well, mother,” said Lenka. “It seems your sister has delayed the inevitable.”

  Athena, coherent although in pain, managed a defiant smirk.

  “Nobody hides better than Arty,” she declared. “You’ll be a moldering corpse before she surfaces again!”

  Lenka nodded coldly.

  “Yes, I imagine so,” said Lenka.” So you will simply have to tell me where the rest of your family is.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” she said. “Moi syn.”

  Lenka shook his head.

  “This always ends the same way, Mother,” he said, then looked toward Alexi. “Tell me when she starts talking.’

  Alexi nodded and opened his briefcase. Lenka turned and stalked back up the stairs. Upstairs he found Duscha and several of his men. His daughter had picked up one of Artemis’ ancient weapons, a Roman cat-of-nine-tails. She turned it over and over in her hands. Across the room, Grigori looked on with a worried expression.

  “What have we found?” Lenka asked.

  “Yevgenny’s friends in St. Petersburg are hacking the local telephone network’s computers,” said Duscha, caressing the sharp pieces of metal at the ends of the chains. “Artemis made many calls to one number within this area code.”

  “We are in the middle of nowhere, daughter. This area code could take up half the state,” Lenka replied.

  “We will have a location soon,” Duscha said.

  “And she’ll be gone by the time we get there,” Lenka sighed.

  “Perhaps we could draw her family here? Leave a text inviting some of them for the week?” Duscha suggested.

  “She’s probably already alerted them all,” Lenka replied. “Even if she hadn’t, her family would call, to confirm and plan. How exactly would we fake her voice?”

  Duscha shrugged as if it were nothing in the world, and went back to fondling her new toy. Lenka moved into the kitchen, helping himself to a bottle of whiskey from the closet. As the burning liquid slid down his throat, Yevgenny emerged from another room.

  “The number is from Granby, the next town over. Should we check it out?” he asked.

  “Yes. Take ten men,” Lenka replied, his voice heavy and depressed. “We may get lucky. When you’re done, come back here.”

  Screams echoed up the nearby staircase. His mother’s latest interrogation had begun.

  “Daughter, shut the door, please,” said Lenka. “I am in no mood.”

  Duscha, cat-of-nine-tails in hand, jumped catlike to her feet. She darted over and disappeared down the stairs, closing the door behind her.

  Lenka was napping when Athena started talking. He’d needed a break. His chest had started to hurt; then his breath went short. No doubt from the cancer. It was still in its early stages, but it made itself felt.

  A gentle hand on his shoulder awoke him. Blinking away the haze of sleep, his eyes focused on Duscha, standing beside the couch. The cat-of-nine-tails was still in her hands, its chains splashed with blood. The metal bits at the end were completely red.

  “She spilled everything, Father,” she said with a smile. She lifted the cat-of-nine-tails and said. “It did not take much. You waste your time with those drugs.”

  Lenka coughed into his hand, then checked to make sure there was no blood. Satisfied, he sat up and looked to his daughter.

  “What do you mean, everything?”

  “Addresses, where all of them live,” she said excitedly.

  He shook his head resignedly, saying, “They will have already fled their homes.”

  “Yes, but one of your uncles has not been so smart when it comes to falling off the grid,” Duscha said, her smile growing wider.

  “What? What do you mean?” Lenka said.

  “Yevgenny’s people hacked the servers of an American cell phone company. They found a phone that bills to one of the addresses Grandmother gave us,” explained Duscha. “That phone, and the credit card that pays it, are still in use. In Amsterdam.”

  “Dionysus?” Lenka said.

  “Yes.”

  “Alcohol . . .” Lenka said, shaking his hand.

  “Irina Denilova is in Amsterdam with Russian intelligence,” Duscha said. “She has always been willing to take side jobs.”

  “If the price is right,” Lenka said. Irina Denilova did not come cheap. And she expected a quarter of her fee up front. But he could afford it. Especially with his “new partner” in San Francisco. He’d only spoken to her a few times, and wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her. But she’d come through with documents and money. Given what she’d spent already, it was a safe bet she’d be willing to shell out a little more.

  “Call Denilova. Tell her it has to be done as quickly as possible, no delay,” said Lenka.

  “I will, Papa,” Duscha said, and turned to scamper away.

  “Daughter?” Lenka said. Duscha paused and turned back.

  “Yes, Papa?” she asked.

  “Is my mother still alive?” he asked.

  “Yes, Papa,” Duscha replied. “She will live.”

  Lenka got to his feet, his hand resting on the pistol at his hip.

  “Good,” he replied. “You do remember my orders. She is no good to me dead.”

  “Of course, Papa,” she replied innocently. “I am not a fool.”

  “Go,” he said simply. “Tell Irina.”

  Duscha licked her lips, and darted away.

  11

  Amsterdam, The Netherlands

  Muted daylight filled his eyes. It managed to creep through the blinds of the hotel room, casting the area in an amber hue. For a moment that was it; then came the urge to piss. Hangovers sucked, and the only way to beat them was to drink a lot of water while you were getting tanked. He felt a dull ache in his head, nothing more than most people felt when they got off a roller coaster. But his bladder was near bursting.

  He sighed as he got to the toilet. A little bushed from last night’s fun, he slumped his tall, unclothed body against the wall as nature called. With his free hand he skimmed through his messages. Most were from friends and drinking buddies back in Los Angeles, a few from women he’d been seeing—actually more than a few. Attractive and built like a linebacker, Dionysus had no trouble meeting women.

  One message was from Artemis.

  He paused, staring at the message for a second. A cold chill ran up his spine. One of Lenka’s people had found her. She’d gotten away, luckily. But so soon after Hermes had been found and killed? It meant Lenka had possibly found all of them. Which meant the women would never get answers to their messages. It meant that as soon as he got back to America, Ted Balick would cease to exist.

  Damn, he swore to himself. He really liked his place in Malibu.

  “Mmm . . . ,” came a feminine voice from the bedroom, interrupting his thoughts. “Up so soon?”

  “I’ll be back in a sec, baby,” he replied.

  He tried to think of her name, but not
hing came. It was Amsterdam. He’d flown out from L.A. for the week, spending his time smoking herbs the Americans frowned on and drinking alcohol that Americans sold for far less. He supposed it balanced out. This was the second woman he’d met.

  And she was quite a looker. Tall and blonde, green eyes and a voluptuous figure. He didn’t remember much of the night before, but he did recall that when they met she’d been wearing a business shirt and a tight, knee-length skirt. Something about that had caught his attention. With the prostitutes dressing like strippers and the tourists dressing like slightly more reserved strippers, this beautiful woman done up like an executive had stood out, almost as much as the local Muslim women with their head scarves.

  “Let’s get some breakfast,” she said. He heard her fiddling with something on the nightstand, then heard a zipper opening. She had brought a bag with her.

  He moved to the sink, put his phone down, and splashed water on his face. When he looked into the mirror, he paused, disappointed by what he saw. The same face he’d seen for nearly forty-eight hundred years stared back at him. It was a handsome face, with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and thick, wavy black hair. Soft brown eyes stared out from under brows that, by modern standards at least, were a little too thick. But that was about the only imperfection.

  And that bothered him. He sighed, wetting his fingers in the sink, then running them through his hair to restore some semblance of order to the unruly mess. As he looked up again he paused, something imperceptible catching his eye. He held some of his hair in one hand, uncertain what had caught his attention. He squinted, but nothing seemed any different.

  Leaning close, he brought his head right against the mirror. There the mystery resolved itself. Among the clump of black hairs was an odd duck, lighter than the others. Slightly crinkled. He singled it out, pulling on it until it stood out from his head.

  “Gray,” he whispered, a smile forming on his face. “That son of a bitch . . . Doc Jed, you pulled it off.”

  “What’s that, baby?” his bed partner asked.