by Raye Wagner
The wasted glut of overindulgence was mind-boggling.
Hope realized her mouth was open and snapped it shut, only to open it again when the putrid stench made her so nauseated her eyes watered. The smell was much less intense if she breathed through her mouth.
“Who transports all of the goods up here?” she asked.
Hermes leveled her with a look. “The gods.”
The pettiness was astounding. She wasn’t surprised by the mounds in front of some of the statues. She knew Hera, Zeus, Apollo, and Ares were awful and selfish. There were others, Hope thought. It was plausible they had the selfishness this excess would require. Aphrodite, Athena, and Dionysus were all awful, but Artemis? It made Hope’s heart hurt a little to see the decaying offerings at the base of her statue. Artemis had helped Hope get into the conservatory, and that festering pile of garbage made her doubt the goddess’s motive.
Hermes, Xan, and Hope continued through the hall, and the path opened up as the stone dais and space in front of one of the statues was clear of parishioners’ gifts. Hope looked up to see Poseidon’s likeness holding a golden trident, and a sense of appreciation for the god of the sea resonated deep within. A few minutes later, the trio passed an empty space in front of the effigy of the disfigured Hephaestus. Hope wished she had a token to lay at his feet but realized he wouldn’t appreciate it even if she did. He’d left the games of Olympus behind for a reason, and she blew his statue a kiss of gratitude instead.
Up ahead, there was another god whose statue and surrounding area was also free from the garbage the others had amassed. Curiosity piqued, Hope wound through the littered floor to see which god residing on Olympus was not taking bribes.
Her stomach dropped when she saw the large likeness of Athan extending toward the domed ceiling of the gallery. Hope turned to Hermes, her eyes wide with disbelief that simply couldn’t be contained, and stammered, “You?”
Hermes balled his hands, and his back was ramrod straight. In a voice devoid of emotion, he said, “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He led them through the hall, his long stride distancing him from his errand.
Hope stumbled and almost tripped over several pairs of vibrant and patterned high heels in front of Aphrodite’s image.
“Watch yourself,” Xan said, catching her arm and helping her back up. As soon as she was standing, his gaze darted around the room.
At first she wondered if Xan felt the same awe at the lavish offerings, but shame poked at Hope when she realized he wasn’t looking at all the bequests. His vigilance was a constant measurement for potential threats or ambushes.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Hope asked in a low voice.
Hermes was far enough ahead that she didn’t think he would hear, and even if he did, he probably didn’t care.
“The throne room, I reckon, though I’ve no idea where that is,” Xan said, reaching for her hand. “But we’ll get through it.” He shook his head and nodded at the excess around them. “I can’t wait to get out of here. This is madness.”
Hope nodded as they approached the doorway where Hermes stood waiting for them.
Madness was an understatement.
Laughter, both male and female, rang through the air along with the clinking of glass. The smell of roasted beef and fresh baked bread competed with the aroma of mirepoix, and Hope’s mouth watered.
She stepped from the abandoned Hall of the Olympians into a cocktail party. Dressed in modern clothing, the ten Olympians were going through the motions of a social gathering. Hope worried she wouldn’t be able to identify the different gods, but it took only a glance to pick out each of them.
Dionysus wore a rumpled linen suit and held a drinking glass half full of amber liquid. His dark features were so similar to Dion’s, all the way down to his unfocused gaze, it felt like déjà vu. He said something to his companion, who then broke out into peals of laughter.
Artemis. The petite goddess was dressed in tight black pants, soft suede knee-high boots, and a wide-necked sweater that was sliding off her shoulder. She held a full flute of bright-red liquid. Her silver hair was pulled up in a twist, and tendrils framed her ebony face. Her painted lips remained in a wide smile, but her eyes were wary and guarded.
Aphrodite had to be the blond bombshell in the backless dress talking to whom Hope guessed was Demeter, judging by the strawberry-blond hair that looked so much like Persephone’s. Demeter wore long, flowing pants and a shimmery cream top. Her gold heels still kept her several inches shorter than her conversation partner.
Athena wore her hair in a low braid, the thick plait draped over her shoulder. Despite being in a dress and heels, she looked like she could throw a blazer over her fitted black cocktail dress and walk into a boardroom if the need arose. She stood talking to a man in a tailored dark suit. Hope couldn’t see his face, but Athena’s gray eyes were tight with frustration.
Hope swallowed as she remembered it was Athena who’d been sent to kill her at the conservatory.
Ares was in tuxedo pants and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His blood-red bow tie hung untied around his neck. His dark hair was slicked back, but the loose strands around his face said he had the same nervous habit as his son.
Apollo wore a pinstriped suit in rich navy, and his sky-blue shirt peeking out at the collar was the same color as his eyes. His back was straight, and he was leaning away from the god of war with a scowl.
Hera stood with them, dressed in a flowing turquoise evening gown that brushed the floor. Her hair was pulled up, and a jeweled peacock, in tones the same color as her dress, was pinned into her thick tresses. Her pinched expression appeared pained, as if whatever they were discussing was unpleasant to the queen of the gods.
There was something decidedly unnatural about seeing Apollo and Hera in the same place together. Didn’t they hate each other?
Hermes halted Hope and Xan with an extended hand. “Wait here,” he said, then he strode across the room to Athena and her companion.
“I bet they’re drinking nectar,” Xan said. His lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “Do you think they’ll let us join the party?”
He was crazy, and Hope couldn’t help the nervous giggle. “I think we are the party.”
She wiped her hands down the front of her conspicuous chiton. Why were the gods dressed in modern clothing, while they’d made her wear something so outdated and uncomfortable? Right.
“Olympians!” The man in the black suit clapped his hands, calling the group to order, and the chatter died instantaneously. He turned to face Hope, and there was no mistaking the king of the gods.
Zeus looked nothing like the pictures. He was not old with white hair and a long curly beard. His hair was platinum blond, trimmed short on the sides but long and curly on top. His facial hair was one shade darker than his curls, and he wore it trimmed in a thin goatee. He smiled at Hope, but his electric-blue eyes were hard and calculating, his very presence reminding her of a cunning fox. She had the distinct impression that they were nothing more than pawns to him, and even then only if it suited his purposes.
“Welcome,” he said, inclining his head. He then turned his gaze to the other Olympians and commanded, “Be seated.”
The gods and goddesses took leave of one another. Only Aphrodite pulled Demeter close and kissed the air on either side of her sister’s face before turning away.
Hermes crossed back to Hope and Xan and indicated they follow him to the middle of the room.
Twelve marble thrones lined the walls, two large ones at the front of the room then five smaller ones on each side. Like in the Hall, three of the seats remained empty. Hope assumed they were for Hephaestus, Poseidon, and Hermes, although why Poseidon was still included in the Hall of the Olympians and Hades made no sense.
Hermes continued to stand next to Hope, his presence both disconcerting and comforting at the same time.
“Hermes, thank you for bringing them here,” Zeus said with a
nod to the younger god.
Hermes left them to take his seat.
Gods, that was a foreboding insight into how Zeus ruled. Anxiety crawled down Hope’s spine, leaving her skin chilled.
“We’re long overdue for a council meeting,” Zeus said with a frown. “Athena, give us an update.”
Athena came to the center of the room and stood in front of Hope and Xan. “The mortals continue in their disbelief and complacency as they glut themselves on the fruit of our realm. Those who are loyal are rewarded, but I see no reason to try to redeem this generation any further. We are reaching capacity, and there have been several plans for depopulation.” She pursed her lips before continuing. “We have yet to come to an agreement on strategy, although some have taken liberties with their own plans.”
Depopulation? No redemption? What did that mean?
“I’ve noticed their selfishness myself,” Zeus said. He shrugged. “Still, they can be quite amusing . . . at times.” Zeus smiled, a fake closed mouth upturn of his lips, and pointed at her empty seat. “Thank you.” He turned to Ares, features shifting to poorly concealed contempt. “What have you seen, god of war?”
Ares stared at his father but did not bother to rise. “Are you serious?” Ares asked, quirking an eyebrow. “What game are we playing? These immortals don’t care about a council meeting.” He curled his lip in disgust and waved at Hope and Xan but continued to address the king of the gods. “You’re not fooling anyone with this fake display of benevolence. Or do you think they believe you’re powerful—?”
“Enough,” Zeus roared, slamming his hands on the arms of his throne. He brought his hand back, reaching behind his head, and an electric-blue lightning bolt materialized, sizzling in the air. His eyes flashed with fury, and with a flick of his wrist, he released the bolt of energy directly at Ares.
Ares yawned and waved his hand, and the bolt deflected away from the god of war, striking the wall on the opposite side of the room above the other gods.
Deafening thunder reverberated throughout the space as shards of the pale marble rained through the air.
Ares studiously brushed the white chips and splinters from his suit.
Silence descended, but the tension was a live wire that would take little or nothing to ignite the next blast.
Ares finally deigned to look up and met Zeus’s glower with raised eyebrows. “This display is beneath us all. You said you didn’t want war, so I suggest you don’t play games.” The god of war ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. “Especially not with me. If you throw another bolt, Father, you’d better intend to finish this.”
Zeus turned to Hera. “I would hate to think you had something to do with this.”
Hera glared at her husband. “After all these millennia, you still question me and my fidelity? You are an ass.”
Great.
“Do you actually believe I care what you think?” Zeus sneered, his face ugly with maliciousness. “You were nothing before I rescued you.”
“Nothing?” she shrieked. “You think because you cut him open, you’re the hero? You have no loyalty, no faithfulness, no devotion. You’re a man-whore—”
Angry bickering broke out among the gods, with vulgarities and profanity being slung like mud.
Hope looked at Xan, who was glaring at his father. Nudging him in the arm, she whispered, “What do we do?”
Without even glancing her way, he shook his head as he squeezed her hand. “Nothing.”
Nothing seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, but she turned her attention back to the quarreling gods.
Zeus’s cruel laugh cut through the din. He brought his hands up and slowly applauded. “Bravo, team Hera.” He shook his head at his wife. “Valiant effort on your part, but I see what you’re trying to do.” He left his dais, his gaze fixed on Hope. “If I’d left the room, how easy would it be to get your majority vote?”
Hera paled, and she flattened her lips before responding. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Zeus circled Hope and Xan. “Without me, a majority would’ve been five counts. There must be something here you want very much.” He stood in front of Hope and studied her. “Who are you?”
“Hope Nicholas.”
Zeus stroked his goatee as he studied her. “Why are you here on Olympus, Hope Nicholas?”
Her palms were clammy, and the words she’d believed would rush forth stuck in her throat. “I wanted an audience . . . about the curse.”
Zeus sighed, like he was granting her an unlimited amount of patience, and yet she’d somehow found a way to try it. Rolling his eyes, he asked, “What curse? Are you cursed? Is it your lover here who’s cursed? Or are you talking about another family member, or perhaps an entire town?” He huffed, a loud exhale of irritation. “What exactly is this curse of which you speak?”
“Apollo cursed my grandmother, turning her into the Sphinx—”
“Ridiculous,” Zeus scoffed. “We all know the Sphinx died at Thebes.” He glanced around the room at the other Olympians.
Athena feigned surprise, and Hermes suddenly became occupied with his phone. Demeter wrung her hands, and Hera continued to glare at her husband. Artemis clenched her teeth, but she was otherwise expressionless. Aphrodite clutched her hands to her heart, her lower lip pouting in either sorrow or pity. Dionysus sipped at his drink, either oblivious or willfully ignorant of his surroundings. Only Ares was smiling. And Apollo . . .
Apollo shrugged in response. As if he didn’t know what Hope was talking about. As if what Zeus had declared was common knowledge. As if . . .
Zeus turned back to Hope with a gleam in his eye and asked, “Why would you risk your life for a lie?”
She didn’t know what he knew, or what he’d picked up on. Hope couldn’t play games. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t want to. All she wanted was the truth. “I’m not lying.”
“I’ve seen her change, my lord.” Xan squared his shoulders as he spoke. “At the new moon, she morphs. She is the Sphinx.”
“Impossible. What you’re proposing . . .” Zeus tilted his head back and raised his hand in the air. “Right. Only the Graeae would be able to change a curse like that.” He turned to Apollo. “In truth, Son, is she yours?”
Hope ground her teeth together and glared at the god who’d cursed her. She was nobody’s.
Apollo held her gaze and then winked at her as he rose from his chair. Crossing the marble floor to her, he said, “I’m sure she resents you saying that, Father.”
Zeus frowned, clearly unsettled by his son’s words. Maybe Zeus didn’t understand how he’d been offensive. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t fathom why Apollo would even care about the abomination he’d created. Turning his attention back to Hope, his countenance more troubled this time, Zeus asked, “So what are we to do with you? What counsel are you seeking?”
Hope took a deep breath and said, “I wish for judgment.”
Apollo froze only a few steps from her, his warm smile instantly freezing. “Judgment?”
She tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye. “On the fulfillment of the curse.”
Apollo paled with an expression that looked like she had slapped him across the face.
Hera straightened on her throne with a triumphant smile. Turning to her husband, she said, “It seems your wisdom is needed after all, my dear.”
Hope wanted to tell her grandmother to shut up. Hera’s pettiness would do nothing to help anyone.
“I see,” Zeus said, and he waved Apollo back to his seat. “I will grant you an audience, girl, and my word on this will be final.”
Apollo furrowed his brow, his face pinching in fury. The god of the sun said nothing as he stalked back to his throne.
Hope nodded, but Zeus wasn’t paying her any mind. His hard stare was for each of the other Olympians, and one by one they nodded their agreement.
But their attention didn’t stay long on their liege. Aphrodite leaned over to talk with Ares, Dionysus
turned back to his glass, and Demeter and Athena put their heads together, whispering secrets. Only Artemis, Apollo, and Hermes kept their attention on Hope and Xan.
Zeus extended his hand toward Hope and said, “You may begin.”
Xan squeezed her hand while whispering, “It’s all you, luv.”
This was it.
Hope didn’t start her history with Phoibe’s lineage. Instead, Hope started the story of the curse when Phoibe first refused Apollo and he promised he’d return. Hope told of his visit to Phoibe and Isaak the night Phaidra was born and the words of the curse. Of Phaidra’s interactions with Kafre and Kafre’s promise that if they were united, their offspring would fulfill the curse. Then Phaidra’s choice to refuse Kafre, and later Apollo, and marry a mortal instead.
At some point in the story, the gods stopped their whispered side conversations. Hope alone held their attention.
“My mother met my father at the grocery store. It was a whirlwind romance; that’s what my mom always said. They were married only a couple months after they met, and my mother was afraid to tell her husband about the curse, but as the new moon approached, she could think of no way to hide what she was. She knew, at some point, she would have to tell him. Her father had accepted what her mother was, and Leto was hopeful her husband would also accept her. She told him, and despite the difficulty of the conversation, she thought it went well. He told her he was going to make a short run to the grocery store to get all of her favorite treats. She thought his gesture was sweet.”
Hope paused to clear the emotion from her throat. She thought of all the times her mother had told her this story, the pain in Leto’s eyes when she got to the last part.