Fates and Furies (The Sphinx Book 4)

by Raye Wagner

  Athan unwrapped a fruit-filled cookie bar and took a bit of the sweet confection. When he was done, he washed it down with a bottle of water as Vrady put a significant dent in his bag of food.

  She pulled the wrapper from another granola bar, the last one Athan could find in the seemingly endless bag of snacks, and dropped it to the ground. “These are my new favorite.”

  Vrady had said the same thing before eating every single one.

  Athan smiled and leaned over to pick up the wrappers. One by one, he stuffed the green and silver packages into his now empty water bottle. Shoving in the last two wrappers took a little pressure, but there was a small sense of satisfaction as he twisted the cap closed.

  “Why did you do that?” Vrady asked, pointing at the bottle full of trash.

  Athan shrugged. “There’s no reason to leave a mess. I mean, I don’t know how long you’re going to be here, but it looks like I’m going to be here a while, so . . .” He extended a bottle of water toward her. “You must be thirsty now.”

  Vrady reached for the bottle, and Athan loosened the cap and gave the bottle to her. She drank the entire contents and gave the empty container back, oddly silent the entire time.

  After putting the garbage back in his bag, he sat on the ground and leaned against his soft duffle. “Tell me, Vrady, how long have you been here?”

  The young girl joined him on the ground and pointed at the black rock above spotted with a pale-green phosphorus glow. “Do you see that up there? There’s no pattern to the light. No pattern to the dark.”

  Athan stared up at the pale spots surrounded by inky darkness.

  “One could look up there and say it was chaos,” she said.

  There was no predictability to the configuration of the stone of the Underworld, but there was sense to it. There was reason. As the son of the god of linguistics, he couldn’t help but reply, “Chaos is more than a lack of pattern. It is complete disarray or confusion.”

  He shifted, and his gaze fell to the girl by his side.

  But she was no longer a girl. The woman lying next to him wore the same white chiton, but it now fell mid-thigh on her long, pale legs. Her lavender hair was spread out against the black rock in a fan of curls. She stared at him with her unearthly eyes; a haunting depth seemed to be buried within. Meeting his gaze, she asked, “Are you frightened? Do you want to run away?”

  In truth, his heart was pounding, and the flight-or-fight part of his brain was screaming at him to flee. But if she’d meant him harm, why wait until now? He pushed away his instinct, mentally barred his fear from taking over. “No, Lady. Where would I go?”

  She sat up, and pushed her curls away from her face. “But you are afraid.”

  “Being afraid is a feeling.” He mirrored her, bracing his back with his bag. “Acting afraid is a choice.”

  “You are Hermes’s son.” When he inclined his head, she continued, “His love is not enough to keep you safe. No parent can love their child enough to force them to stay on a safe path. No one can determine your path except you.” She looked up at the rock and sighed. “His short-sightedness could have significant consequences.”

  Athan wanted to scream in frustration if there was more he’d have to endure. “For him or for me?”

  “Are you not already experiencing consequence enough?” The goddess returned her unearthly gaze to him. “There is no controlling chaos.” She stood and looked down at her dress. She brushed her hand over her chiton, and the skirt lengthened until it was touching the ground. She let out a long breath and squared her shoulders. “I will have my daughters come for a visit. I believe it is time to clean up the mess of my progeny.”

  His mind spun with possibilities, but the question he wanted answered most fell out without thought. “Will Hope be okay?”

  The pale goddess frowned. “It will take significant power to change the course Apollo has set for her. And to set the answer in stone would be to remove the very thing she is fighting for. But she has all she needs to accomplish her goal.” Her features softened. “You have shown me much kindness, Athan Michael. Someday, I will do what I can to repay your kindness.”

  Like the phosphorus glow above, the goddess was present one moment and then gone the next.

  Hope’s entire world narrowed until it was only her in the leather bucket seat and the phone in her hand.

  “Hello?” Haley’s voice was tight with disbelief. “Hope, is that really you?” She sounded exactly the same as the last time Hope had talked to her, like it was yesterday.

  Hope nodded, overcome by a mixture of relief and excitement.

  “Hope?” This time Haley’s voice was tinged with panic.

  Realizing Haley was blind to Hope’s emotional response, she laughed at herself and then choked out, “Hi, Haley.”

  Typical of Haley, she launched into a one-sided conversation as soon as Hope spoke.

  “Oh. My. Gods! What in the name of every single god in the entire world happened to you? You disappeared again. For years. Like five or six years ago you were in Seattle, and then poof, gone. I can’t even believe . . . What happened? No, wait. Are you allowed to tell me? Is it going to put us in danger? Oh, gods. My dad is going to freak out. Tristan is going to flip. Is Athan with you? Tristan misses him. We miss you. Gods, I can’t believe you’re on the phone with me. Are you close? Can you come—?”

  A baby started crying, and then Hope heard another voice. That of a little girl. “I talk, too. I talk on a phone. Mommy, please?”

  “Shh! Just a second, Mommy’s on the phone. I’m sorry, Hope. Tristan’s at work, and I’ve got both little ones home with me. Are you going to be around for very long? Maybe I can drop the kids off with my parents. I would love to see you.”

  Like always, talking with Haley was an informational overload. “I . . . uh . . .” Hope glanced at Xan, who shook his head with a grim look on his face. “I’m not in town, actually. But I should be soon, and I’d love to catch up when I get there. I’m trying to track down some information from your father. Is . . . Is he still alive?”

  Haley shushed her crying daughter. “Yes, yes. Dad’s great. He and Mom are in Goldendale. They moved back after the whole fiasco with those sons of Apollo. Did you know Dad told me they got fried in some conservatory? Oh gods, I can’t remember now. Yes. Anyway, he’s still at the Red Apple. Or do you want me to text you his number?”

  Xan nodded and whispered, “Get the number.”

  The noise in the background intensified. “Do you mind texting me his number?”

  “Of course not! Shh. Stop.” The sound of a crash reverberated through the receiver. “Oh no! Oh, Hope, hun, I’m so sorry for all the ruckus. The baby is covered in paint. I swear these kids will be the death of me. I want you to call me as soon as you get into town, you hear? I miss you so much I’m going to stitch my shadow to you.”

  Haley coughed, and her little girl asked, “Why you crying, Momma? Are you sad?”

  Haley laughed. “It’s okay, baby. Momma’s okay.” She then said through the phone, “I love you, Hope.”

  Those three words were gold. “I love you, too.”

  A weighty silence was followed by a wet sniff. “Call me soon, ’kay? And please . . . stay safe.”

  “Thanks Haley. I’ll do my best.”

  “All right, I’d better let you go. Dad will be happy to hear from you.”

  The baby screamed, and Hope had to pull the phone from her ear.

  Xan swore and muttered, “I’m never having kids.”

  Hope shook her head. “I’ve got to go, Haley. I’m in the car with a friend . . .”

  The two said goodbye and hung up. Seconds later, her phone beeped with the incoming text. Hope tapped on the screen and then held her breath as the call went through.

  Peter Stanley was not nearly as talkative as his daughter, but he readily agreed to meet with Hope, and they arranged a time the next morning.

  Hope and Xan stopped at a hotel in Portland and crashed.


  The Red Apple had not changed significantly in the time Hope had been gone from Goldendale. There were racks of potted starts for fruits and vegetables outside the local grocery store. The sign out front looked a little more worn, and inside the tile was a little grayer. But the lighting was as harsh as she remembered, and the smell of disinfectant just as strong. Hope skirted down through the produce section to the meat counter.

  Like the Olympian temple, the inside of the grocery store seemed much smaller than she remembered. No, not smaller, just plain. Normal. There was nothing ominous about the deli where she’d first seen the sons of Apollo; the aisle where Myrine had chanted her odd rhyme was only an aisle filled with food. When she’d moved to Goldendale, the store was big and, at times, scary, much like the responsibility she carried. Funny how life made the past seem smaller.

  Xan followed, giving her space to settle her history. When she got to the back of the store, he pulled out a chair at the small deli and settled himself a dozen paces away.

  She stood at the glass meat case, where she’d shared riddles with Mr. Stanley for all those months, and waited.

  Mr. Stanley came through the blue double doors, filling Hope with a sense of déjà vu.

  “Hope?” Peter Stanley pulled off his plastic gloves, stepped around the display case, and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank the gods you’re still alive.” He pulled back, and tears glistened in his eyes. “I felt so bad that day. I yelled at you, and then we just ran. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend in your time of need.”

  Hope shook her head. The sons of Apollo chasing them had faded to a distant memory, a worry that was now obsolete. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You were always a great friend.”

  Peter Stanley pointed at Xan. “Who are you keeping company with?” Then, leaning toward her, the butcher whispered, “Is that a son of Ares?”

  Hope didn’t have the time or the energy to defend her relationship with Xan. “He’s as loyal as they come, I promise. I came because I need your help. Is it safe to talk here?”

  Peter waved her toward the back, and Xan was suddenly by her side.

  “She doesn’t leave my sight,” Xan hissed at the butcher.

  Tension bloomed between the two men, and Hope shook her head. “Stop.” She turned to Xan. “I’m as safe with Mr. Stanley as I am with you.”

  Xan didn’t even look at her. He pointed at the blue doors and asked, “Is there another entrance to that location?”

  Peter nodded and said, “The alley.”

  “Then stay out here.” The grimace Xan wore brokered no argument. “This is a better space to fight. Just in case.”

  Peter blanched, and his gaze darted around the store. Something about Xan’s words or posturing must’ve been sufficient to convince the butcher, or at the very least convince him that it wasn’t worth discussing. “That’s fine.”

  The store wasn’t busy, as Peter had predicted, and Hope quickly outlined not only who she was but what she wanted to do. The son of Hephaestus stared at her with his mouth agape.

  “That’s why I need your help. Your father is one of the only gods with access to Olympus who might support me.” Hope shifted from foot to foot while she waited for his response.

  “Holy. Hades.” Mr. Stanley took a deep breath. “What . . . ? I mean . . . How?” He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it from a hallucination. But she was still there when he opened his eyes, and he met her gaze. “You need help from Hephaestus?” When she nodded, he untied his plastic apron. “I will take you there myself.”

  He went to the double doors and poked his head into the back room. “Jack, have you clocked in? I need you up front. I’m going on break. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Without waiting for a response, Mr. Stanley led them out the front of the store.

  The drive to Hephaestus’s temple was surprisingly short. There were no priests, only an open portico to an alter that sat in front of a shrine of the disfigured god.

  Mr. Stanley walked up to the altar and placed a square of paper on the empty space. “Dad, I need you.”

  Hephaestus immediately appeared. He was not handsome like the other gods. His shockingly red hair was long on top but shaved on the sides. He wore it pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, and he had a full beard, neatly trimmed, which partially hid the cleft in his upper lip. His eyes were a vibrant green and looked like they were lit from within. He wore a pair of heavy pants, tucked into blackened work boots. His skin was pale and covered in tattoos, and his muscles were defined in a way that made Xan look unfit. The tight tank top the god wore left nothing to the imagination, including the tattoos and body piercings covering his torso.

  “Peter,” Hephaestus boomed. The god of smiths, artisans, and craftsman circled his alter and pulled his son into a hug. Pounding on his son’s back, he asked, “How’s Soo-Jin? And Haley?”

  Mr. Stanley smiled as he looked up at his father with love. “Good. They’re all good.”

  Hephaestus picked up the paper. Studying the contents, he smiled. “It’s a beautiful family you have.” He chuckled and added, “The little one has your hair.”

  “She has your hair, you mean.” But the demigod was glowing with pride. “She’s brilliant, our little Immy, and so kind.”

  Hephaestus extended his hand, giving the picture back to his son. Hope saw Mr. Stanley, Soo-Jin, his wife, Haley, Tristan, and a grinning toddler with gorgeous red hair. But her friends were older now, and Hope was reminded of the difference in the passage of time while in the Underworld. Haley was holding the little girl and was visibly pregnant.

  Hope’s heart ached with all she’d missed, and she stared at the piece of paper, wanting to ask if she could take a closer look at it. The silence startled her from her reverie, and she glanced up to see the god’s gaze had shifted to her and Xan.

  Hephaestus cleared his throat and asked, “What have we here?” He raised his eyebrows as he turned to his son. “Are you making immortal friends?”

  Mr. Stanley gave a brief history of how he and Hope had met, her friendship with Haley, and Hope and Xan’s visit to the store. “They’re seeking your aid.”

  The god closed his eyes and rolled his neck. The air around him shimmered, and the stone of the temple disappeared as the god transported them.

  Sweltering heat enveloped Hope and Xan as their surroundings materialized. Fire blazed in a stone forge that took up one side of the room, and glowing liquid ran in rivulets from the inferno in the wall, dripping into a large black caldron on the polished floor. A heavy hammer lay on top of a scorched and blackened anvil. The air singed her nose with the acrid tang of metal. Weapons hung from hooks pounded into the rock walls: sharp scythes, glinting swords, arrows in quivers, and several spears. The clang of metal being pounded rang through the heavy air, despite the fact that the space was void of inhabitants.

  Hephaestus waved his hand, and the sound stopped. He pinned them with his weighty gaze, and his jaw hardened. “What do you want of me? I no longer participate in the games on Olympus, and I carry no influence with the madness that goes on there.”

  The fierceness in his demeanor when speaking of Olympus was a stark contrast to the warmth he’d shown for his son, and it gave Hope a glimmer of optimism. “I want to break the curse Apollo placed on my family. I need to get to Olympus, confront Hera about her hypocrisy, and then face Apollo with justice by my side.”

  She had no idea what the last part meant, but it was exactly what she’d told Xan in the Underworld, and in her core, she knew there was truth in it.

  Xan nodded at her with a small smile of encouragement, but everything about his movement was taut and coiled with worry. His gaze flitted over the weapons, and he clenched his hands together.

  Hephaestus’s lips spread into a wide grin, and his eyes sparked with interest. “You are going to reveal Hera as a fraud?”

  It wasn’t fair to call it that, but Hope was going to let the goddess know sh
e had not sealed the Book of the Fates that would expose her. “Anyone who knows your story would understand her duplicity. I’m not sure what I plan to do would be anything more than confirmation. But yes, I’m going to inform her there is further evidence to condemn her hypocrisy.”

  Rubbing his thick hands together, Hephaestus chuckled, a low dark sound. “Your chances for success are very slim, but if you’re determined . . .” When Hope nodded, he continued, “Let me get you a few things.”

  He glanced at Xan then turned to the wall of weapons. “Do you have a preference, Son of Ares? You’ve been staring since we arrived.”

  Hope couldn’t hold back her laughter. Relief mixed with excitement and anticipation. This was it. They were going to do this.

  “I’m partial to the sword,” Xan said, stepping forward. “But I can handle anything you give me.”

  Hephaestus held out a sword, and Xan reached forward to take it. The god hissed and snatched it back. “Where did you get those?”

  Hope studied Xan, trying to figure out what the god had seen. Was it the immortal blade? The hilt of the dagger was visible on the demigod’s hip, but hadn’t Hephaestus given those to the gods eons ago? And it’d been in plain sight the entire time. He couldn’t be surprised Xan had it, could he?

  “Are those shears from the Moirai?” Equal parts fear and awe exuded from the god and his reverential whisper. He set the sword down and pointed at Xan’s waistline.

  Hope saw the opaque handle threaded with silver peeking out from Xan’s belt. His shirt must’ve lifted when he reached for the sword.

  “Aye,” Xan said. “Atropos gave them to me, but I won’t part with them, not even for a weapon.” Xan dropped his hands to his sides. “Will you still help us?”

  Hephaestus rubbed his hands together again and leaned toward them. “Your chance of success is much higher with those at your side. Do you know how to use them?”

  Xan pulled out the shears, holding the blades between his thumb and forefinger. “I know if I cut you, or anyone with blood from Olympus, they can’t lie. And when I hold them, I can see threads. But they don’t make a titch of sense to me, and sometimes they disappear.”