Badass and the Beast: 10

by Shrum, Kory M.

  “And what do you expect us to do?” I asked.

  “Most of the council members, including myself, own stock in the brewery. Many of the employees are minor, unpredictable, pagan entities—who would be easily persuaded to the wrong side of this war if they lost their jobs due to Apollo’s rampage. You understand? You know Apollo. You know what this is about. Fix it.” He hung up.

  A sour taste rose in the back of my throat. I wanted to convince myself that Grim was trying to connect us with Apollo to work through our grief together. As if this was all a prearranged group therapy session. But that was too much credit for Grim. Still, he could have left off the bit about having stock in the brewery. Like I gave a damn about his investments. Jerk.

  Kevin was gone when I emerged from the bedroom. Gabriel rinsed his coffee mug and turned to mirror my bitter expression. His wings flicked nervously, molting feathers on the hardwood floor. “No beer tasting today, I’m afraid.”

  As if on cue, my brain throbbed, reminding me of my hangover. The clattering of Coreen’s food dish didn’t help. She pawed at it again and whined.

  “Sorry, girl. Duty calls.”

  Summerland was my happy place. There was a little cottage on the edge of the faerie glades that Josie and I had once rented out for a weekend. We swam in a brook with water sprites, and at night, we watched the Wild Hunt from the front porch swing, bundled in scratchy wool blankets and sipping cider so strong it set our lips on fire. It seemed like a million years ago.

  The Drunken Dove Brewery was in a more industrialized region of Summerland, situated along the base of Mount Olympus. When the First War of Eternity ended and the territories were settled in the afterlife, the old Greek gods requested that many of their temples and monuments be replicated from the human realm. Mount Olympus was one of the larger requests.

  The brewery was added later, but it was a relic in its own right. The stone and marble structure sprouted from the side of the mountain, as if it had gotten stuck halfway through its birth. The production rooms were stacked on top of each other, ending with the bottling facility on the ground level, and then the finished product was stored in a cave that served as a cellar. Dionysus updated his equipment occasionally, but the lobby and gift shop were set up like a museum. The tasting rooms were old-fashioned as well, displaying the season’s best in rustic wooden barrels, opposite a wall of coolers holding an impressive collection of glassware.

  The notorious Greek god of booze owned a winery too, of course, but his ever popular Ambrosia Ale had captured the limelight for the brewery recently. His secret ingredient was the envy of all. How he managed to lure in the doves that delivered the ambrosia was a topic of much discussion.

  It was still quite early when Gabriel and I arrived. The morning sun lingered behind the Olympian peaks, sending long shadows out to greet us. They grew darker as we approached the brewery. I’d been here before, on more than one occasion, for tastings and parties. I never thought I’d find myself here on business though. It felt all wrong.

  Gabriel and I climbed the stairs to a narrow patio shaded by a slab of marble held up by gray pillars. It was reminiscent of Dionysus’s old temples, though it lacked the tasteful sculptures he was often depicted in. Instead, round braziers were scattered down the length of the patio. Lounge chairs filled in the gaps, piled with dark red and purple cushions.

  Before we had the chance to knock, the front doors flew open.

  “Thank the gods!” The Pythia filled the threshold. We’d never met before, but I knew right away who she was. The aura of her soul glittered in a halo all around her, marking her as one of the original believers.

  I’d only met a rare few originals, but the Pythia’s awe-inspiring glow did not hold my attention for long. The cowl of her crimson robe was pushed back, exposing a tangle of dark curls and a bony shoulder. Sweat coated her skin like dew, and light scratches ran the length of her neck and chest. She fanned herself with a laurel branch, pausing long enough to usher us inside. When her eyes fell on the hounds, she stumbled back in surprise.

  Gabriel’s brow crinkled and his wings twitched. “Shouldn’t you be at the temple, preparing for the council’s reading?”

  The Pythia barked out a nervous laugh. “I can’t very well do that without Apollo, now can I?” She took a step back and clawed at her throat, twisting her head to the side as her face distorted. “He’s in the cellar. Silenus moved him down there to hide him from the Maenad.”

  Gabriel slowly reached for her arm. “The first half of the ritual doesn’t require him. You could go bathe in the spring for a bit—calm your nerves.”

  The Pythia’s eyes brimmed with tears and she looked over her shoulder. “I… I can’t. You don’t understand—”

  “It’s okay.” Gabriel pulled her in for a hug and she let out a trembling sigh.

  “He’s been like this for weeks. Ever since—well, you know. I thought it would pass, but he just keeps getting worse. I fear winter will come early this year.”

  Gabriel hushed her and rubbed circles over her back. “We’ll help you return him to the temple.”

  The Pythia was one of Apollo’s oldest consorts—devoting herself to him in life and death. She had been the first oracle at his temple in Delphi, way back in the eighth century BC. In the sixth century AD, when the afterlife was getting its big makeover, Apollo surprised the Pythia with a replica of their temple, which had been destroyed in the mortal world a few hundred years before. Rumor had it that she’d been so thrilled, she vowed to never again leave the adytum—the inner sanctuary of the temple. It was believable enough. She never attended social events, not even the Oracle Ball, which was practically named after her.

  When the Pythia composed herself and pulled away from Gabriel’s embrace, she led us past the gift shop and tasting rooms, through a set of unmarked doors at the end of a long hall. The cathedral ceilings gave way to darkness as we entered the mouth of the cave. A narrow ledge hugged the wall, boxed in by chrome railing anchored to the edge. This was as far as the brewery tour guide took guests. They would peer down into the abyss below, and then head back to the tasting rooms to drink away the nightmares they envisioned climbing up out of the darkness.

  “This way.” The Pythia pushed open a chrome gate where the railing and ledge ended. The lumpy rock walls sparkled in her presence. Uneven stairs were cut into the side of the cave, barely visible from the glow of her aura.

  The hounds bobbed awkwardly down the stairs behind me, Coreen’s stomach growling at the unexpected workout. We descended for a good five minutes, and just when I was sure we had reached the bottom of the cave, the Pythia cut right, into a tunneled entrance.

  A flickering flame greeted us, along with a disgruntled whinny. Silenus, the caretaker of the brewery, poked his head around his lantern as he neared. Floppy horse ears framed his weathered face.

  “You shouldn’t be down here.” He tried to escort the Pythia back through the tunnel, then stopped as he noticed Gabriel and me standing behind her. Another horsey noise escaped him when he spotted the hounds.

  “We’re here to help,” Gabriel quickly offered, seeing the distress in the old man’s face.

  Silenus didn’t look convinced. “Zeus save us all.” He tried to lead the Pythia away again, but she resisted.

  “I’m going with them,” she said, tucking her laurel branch in close to her chest like a teddy bear. Silenus lifted his lantern and grimaced. His horse tail swished nervously as he turned back the way he had come.

  A low moan echoed down the tunnel. The misery of it was suffocating, and it sent the Pythia to the cave floor, clutching her chest. She whimpered and panted as her eyes glazed over and her face creased in pain. Silenus patted her on the back and looked up at us accusingly. “She shouldn’t be here.”

  I folded my arms. “If you can’t send her to her room, what makes you think we can?”

  His white beard pointed up at me. “What makes you think you can subdue Apollo?”

  �
��I don’t,” I snapped back at him.

  The malice washed from his face and an anxious nicker escaped him.

  “I do.” Gabriel touched Silenus’s shoulder and gave me a berating look. I was sure I’d hear about this later. I shrugged.

  “Really?” Silenus said softly, looking up at Gabriel with pleading eyes.

  “We were Josie’s closest friends. If anyone can help Apollo through this, it’s us.”

  The Pythia’s breath had slowed, and she rose back to her feet. “I don’t understand. He barely knew her for a century.” Her gaze snapped to us. “I’m sure she was lovely.”

  I swallowed a snotty reply. “She was.”

  Apollo’s open relationship with the Pythia wasn’t so rare. Plenty of the old gods had numerous lovers. Not that it was never an issue. Goddesses like Hera, Zeus’s wife, were notorious for their jealousy and vengeance. As far as I could tell, the Pythia leaned safely toward the other end of the spectrum.

  Another moan filled the tunnel. This time, the rock walls trembled in its wake. The Pythia gasped, and I was sure I saw something move beneath the skin of her face. Her eyes darkened and her voice came out husky. “He needs me.” She rushed ahead of us and down the tunnel aimlessly, like a lost firefly.

  “This isn’t good.” Silenus hobbled after her with his lantern, the only source of light now that the Pythia had fled.

  The rock floor grew slicker as it sloped steeply upward the further we ventured. I pressed a hand to the tunnel wall to steady myself as I tried to keep up. The thought of being swallowed by darkness in the dank cave fueled me forward.

  “Where’s Dionysus?” I shouted after Silenus. “Can’t he help?”

  I almost tripped over him when he came to a sudden halt. His eyes bulged as he turned them on me. “No! Dionysus isn’t due at the temple for another two months. The Pythia won’t be able to make the council’s prophecy without Apollo.” He rolled his eyes and gave me an annoyed snort before taking off down the tunnel again.

  I gave Gabriel a weary look and we followed, the hounds panting behind us.

  The tunnel curled sharply and spit us out into a cavernous room—one that clearly rested just beneath the foot of Mt. Olympus. Little nesting holes filled the domed walls, like a giant honeycomb, and faint, natural light spilled down through several small openings in the ceiling, tangled through with tree roots. Doves occupied every other nest. They cooed, announcing our arrival.

  Saul’s tail smacked my leg as he took in the scene, and Coreen whined. I pointed down at both of them, giving them a stern look. “Manto,” I said, before venturing further into the cave with the others. The hounds stood watch at the mouth of the tunnel.

  The Pythia had frozen in the center of the room. Her nostrils flared, as if she were sniffing out Apollo. Her glow seemed less in the dim daylight. She gravitated to a corner of the room and bent over, vanishing into the shadows. Whispers rasped and echoed all around us like ghosts—some soft and sweet, others coarse and taunting. I turned in a wide circle, looking for their source as my skin crawled.

  Silenus cleared his throat and took a cautious step in the direction the Pythia had disappeared. “You have visitors, Apollo,” he said with forced cheer.

  The cave trembled. “Go away. Everyone. Just go away.”

  I hadn’t seen Apollo for some time. Not since the Oracle Ball he had gone to with Josie—the same ball that Kevin was introduced among the eleventh generation of reapers. Still, Apollo’s misery felt genuine enough, like he was ready to bring the whole place down with the weight of his sorrow. Kevin was more private about his heartache. I could hear him late at night, sobbing in the room he’d shared with Josie.

  “Go away!” Apollo roared again. He followed it with a bitter laugh. The Pythia giggled with him. It was a deep, throaty sound that was so distinct from the soft voice I’d heard earlier, I had to take another look around the room to be sure I hadn’t missed someone.

  “Okay. This is getting creepy,” I whispered to Gabriel.

  He squinted into the darkness before leaning in closer. “You know how you never see Bruce Wayne and Batman in the same room?”

  I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms, rubbing away the goose flesh. “What are you getting at?”

  “I think I know why Dionysus can’t help Apollo.”

  I stepped around Silenus and gazed into the shadows cloaking the corner where Apollo and the Pythia huddled. “Forget Batman. Try Two-Face.”

  The sun god’s silhouette was hard to make out. The fact that it was randomly warping and elongating didn’t help. His chin dipped lower, like it would if he were speaking, but his mouth never opened. Instead, a manic grin tugged up one side of his face, while a deep frown creased the other. His sunken eyes rose to meet mine, and he quickly lifted a hand to shield himself from me.

  “Please,” he groaned. “Leave me.”

  The walls of the cave trembled again, and bits of rock and dirt rained down from the ceiling. Some of the doves abandoned their nests and fluttered in circles above us, their coos growing more panicked by the second. Gabriel’s wings shuddered in response. He walked around the other side of Silenus, completing the semicircle in the corner where strange chaos was brewing.

  Gabriel reached out, like he might touch Apollo, but he hesitated and pulled his hand back, clenching it in a fist to his chest. “We all miss Josie—”

  “It’s the curse of loving a soulless creature, isn’t it?” Apollo’s voice came out too loud. Too abrasive and bitter.

  I cocked my head to one side. “Creature?”

  Silenus’s hand found mine and squeezed hard. “I’ll stoke the fires of your ego later, my dear,” he whispered. “Better you swallow it now than let it bring a mountain down on our heads. Yes?”

  I scowled and pulled my hand away.

  Gabriel gave me an apologetic frown and turned back to Apollo. “I’m afraid it is, but I still love them just the same.”

  “Why?” Apollo’s jaw elongated again. This time, the bones in his brow and cheeks shifted too. “Why?” he shouted again. “What’s the point?”

  The Pythia ran a pale, trembling hand down his arm. “You have other lovers, my morning light.”

  Apollo jerked away, causing her to gasp and shrink at his feet. Her arms came up, as if to fend off a blow, and she sobbed as her face shape-shifted in time with the god’s.

  “What the—” I stepped in closer, but Silenus put his arm out to stop me.

  “If the Maenad shows, you won’t want to be within her reach.”

  Gabriel ignored the warning and knelt down to take the Pythia by her shoulders. “Hold on just a little longer. Apollo needs you.”

  Apollo snarled at us. “I don’t need anyone. I need to disappear beyond the North Wind.”

  Silenus shook his head. “Winter is two months off, boy. And you haven’t yet brought the annual prophecy to the Afterlife Council—”

  “Like I give two goats about the damn council.”

  “Now, now.” Silenus waved a hand at him. “You don’t mean that.” His eyes shifted from me to Gabriel. “He doesn’t mean that,” he said, as if we might report the god.

  “The hell if I don’t.” Apollo’s face had narrowed again. The Pythia sniffled and peeked over her should at him, turning away with a squeal when he lunged at her.

  “Dick.” I crinkled my nose at him. The pussyfoot act was clearly getting us nowhere.

  Apollo blinked stiffly. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Silenus’s tail swished against my leg. “Hey, we’re all friends here.”

  “Are we?” Apollo sneered.

  I folded my arms. “Sorry. I’m not friends with jerks who bully their companions.”

  The Pythia made a small noise. Her head was pressed to the cave floor, her hair spilled out before her, exposing the flushed skin of her neck and back where her robe had fallen away. She swayed forward, stretching her hands out to grasp the rock floor. When the sound came again, it was ver
y distinct—and it was laughter.

  Silenus clutched his lantern and took several steps back. “Two months. Two months. Winter mustn’t come sooner. You won’t have the strength to withstand the season’s sparagmos—”

  “Silly Sil,” the Pythia groaned. When she sat up, the whites of her eyes had disappeared, leaving full black orbs staring out at us. “Winter does not need your permission.”

  Apollo’s grin spread across his narrowed face. He reached out for the Pythia, pulling her onto his lap and tugging the red robe down her shoulders. “Make yourself useful and bring us some more ale, Sil.”

  “Sil’s not bringing you shit. He has a brewery to run, and you’re being a pain in everyone’s ass.” I grabbed the Pythia’s arm and pulled her to her feet, earning a horrified moan from Silenus, as if I’d just stuck my hand in the mouth of a crocodile. When the Pythia’s fingernails dug into my arm, I wondered if maybe I had.

  Her bottomless eyes engulfed me as she seized my wrist with her other hand, locking me in place before her. She was much stronger than I expected, for such a tiny human soul.

  “Perhaps we’ll have us a little sparagmos now,” she rasped, stretching my arms out to the sides. My shoulders popped, and I had a sudden moment of panic as I realized she intended to—quite literally—rip me from limb to limb.

  Apollo cackled. He didn’t look at all like himself anymore. Dionysus boiled beneath his flesh, ready to free his other half from misery the only way he knew how. His form warped in time with the Pythia’s. I knew as soon as Dionysus took over, so would the Maenad. And if she didn’t ritually tear me apart, Grim would unceremoniously rip me a new one, once I returned to Limbo City.

  The Pythia’s prophecies helped plan for the following year’s soul harvests. They helped the Afterlife Council decide how to distribute leftover soul matter. And now, more than ever, they gave us an edge over the rebels who had managed to initiate the Second War of Eternity.