by Maz Evans
‘What about your mother?’ Ms Givings asked Elliot with a piercing stare. ‘I understand she is a . . . photographer?’
‘Yes,’ said Elliot. ‘She’s away a lot. That’s why her family has moved in to help. So everything is under control.’
Patricia nodded to Boil, who produced the video camera and began connecting it to the television in the corner of the office.
‘Now Mr Boil and I share a keen interest in . . . bird-watching,’ said Patricia. ‘Why – we were out twitching just the other day when we caught a glimpse of something deeply distressing . . . Mr Boil?’
‘Absolutely,’ leered Boil. ‘Feast your eyes on this horrifying situation!’
He pressed Play on the camera and turned towards Elliot to enjoy every moment of his torture.
Elliot’s pulse quickened. What had they seen? He braced himself as the TV flickered to life. A truly awful image filled the screen. Everyone gasped. Boil grinned.
‘Er – Mr B-boil?’ stammered Call Me Graham. ‘This appears to be a film of you in the shower . . .’
‘You idiot!’ hissed Patricia. ‘You didn’t press Record! This isn’t a film of the Hoopers’ house – it’s yours.’
‘What?’ said Boil, spinning around to face the screen. ‘But – but that’s not possible . . .’
‘Eurgh,’ said Virgo, peering at the screen. ‘Is shaving one’s nose standard showering behaviour?’
‘Nice pink shower cap, sir,’ smirked Elliot.
‘How do you switch this thing off?’ said Boil quickly, turning the camera around.
‘Is that music in the background?’ laughed Elliot. ‘Didn’t have you down as a Beyoncé fan, sir.’
‘She’s a very versatile artist,’ spat Boil, wrestling with the camera. ‘Why won’t this stop?!’
‘How intriguing,’ said Virgo, turning her head sideways. ‘You’re attempting one of her dances. Respectfully, Mr Boil – I don’t think anyone’s going to put a ring on that . . .’
‘And you need to be careful with that towel,’ said Elliot, wincing. ‘If you’re not careful it’s going to—’
Silence fell. So did Mr Boil’s towel.
‘Enough!’ said Boil, throwing the camera on the floor, smashing it to pieces. A few shards flew against the window, where Elliot was sure he could make out the figure of a certain immortal blacksmith lumbering off into the distance. He smiled. The Gods really did have his back.
‘Well – fun as this has been,’ said Elliot, rising to leave, ‘I’d love to get back to double history.’
He strolled towards the door with a satisfied grin.
‘Oh, Ellykins,’ cooed Patricia in a tone that could freeze lava. ‘Why don’t you tell these lovely people about your daddy?’
Elliot’s soul shook. He turned to look into Patricia’s cold, unsmiling eyes.
‘Yes, Elliot,’ said Ms Givings. ‘There’s no mention of your father on your record. Do you have contact with him?’
‘He’s in prison!’ shouted Boil triumphantly.
‘He is?’ exclaimed Graham. ‘Elliot – you never said.’
‘It’s not what it sounds like . . .’ said Elliot desperately. ‘He’s not a bad man, honest. He just made a mistake . . . He’s been really good in prison . . . He might be coming home soon . . .’
Elliot wished he could suck the words back into his mouth. An ex-convict father. The welfare officer was bound to be interested in that.
‘Will he be coming to live with you?’ asked Ms Givings with a smile, writing on her notepad.
‘I don’t know . . . I mean, his parole could take ages . . . It’s . . .’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I – we – he . . .’ Elliot babbled. This was a disaster.
Ms Givings nodded at Call Me Graham. ‘It sounds like you’re very well cared for by your family,’ she said. ‘And you’re both doing very well at school.’
Elliot let out his tense breath. He’d got away with it. He gave Virgo a relieved smile. Boil and Patricia scowled.
‘But we’d still like to pop round and talk to your mother.’
His blood seized in his veins as Patricia and Boil exchanged a sickening smile.
‘No need,’ said Elliot. ‘Don’t worry – I can call my aunt and uncle, they’re always happy to come in . . .’
‘No,’ said Ms Givings firmly. ‘We find it better to talk to families in the home setting. That way we can get to know you properly. Away from school. Is that OK?’
Elliot tried to summon his heart back from his shoes. What else could he do?
‘Sure,’ he said with a weak smile.
‘Great,’ said Ms Givings. ‘We’ll schedule a visit as soon as possible. Absolutely nothing to worry about. We’re just here to help.’
There it was again. Elliot vowed that if the Chaos Stones did allow him to rule the world, he’d banish the word ‘help’ from the face of the planet.
Later that day in Spendapenny, Patricia and Boil toasted their success with a can of Spendapenny Pop.
‘Phase one complete,’ belched Boil. ‘The authorities will be all over Hooper like the warts between my toes. It’s only a matter of time before he’s taken into care.’
‘They’ll throw Josie into the loony bin and then Home Farm will be up for sale,’ said Patricia. ‘Not that it’s any use to me without all my lovely money. Oh, how I miss being rich. I don’t suppose you . . .?’
‘On a teacher’s salary?’ said Boil. ‘I can barely afford my special garden fence to electrocute the baby robins.’
‘I’m so close,’ whined Patricia. ‘There must be a way to get my hands on some money quickly . . .’
‘You could always try the lottery, dearie,’ said Betty, tottering up to the counter. ‘Maybe your luck’s in?’
Patricia gulped down her disdain. She couldn’t abide the lottery. Giving free money to people who’d done nothing to earn it – it was disgraceful. That reminded her – she needed to update her fake passport if she was to claim her second unemployment benefit this week.
‘Could you check me numbers?’ said Betty, producing a handful of lottery tickets. ‘It was a triple mega-rollover at the weekend – £87.5 million! Just imagine all the dog food you could buy with that!’
‘You’d spend all that money on your dog?’ sneered Boil.
‘Who said anything about a dog?’ said Betty.
‘Give them here,’ said Patricia with a sigh. She scanned the first ticket into the machine and checked her screen.
No Match.
‘How much do you spend on this rubbish every week?’ asked Boil with distaste.
‘Three pounds,’ said Betty.
Patricia scanned the second ticket.
No Match.
‘That’s £156 a year!’ said Boil. ‘Imagine what you could do with that money!’
‘Good point,’ gasped Betty. ‘I could buy a hundred and fifty-six lottery tickets.’
Patricia scanned the third ticket. Her machine started bleeping and her screen flashed frantically.
*Jackpot winner! Call Lottery HQ immediately!*
She gasped.
‘What is it, dearie?’ asked Betty.
‘You’ve . . . you’ve won!’ said Patricia.
‘Ooooooooh!’ squealed Betty. ‘You see! I told you! Worth every penny!’
Patricia’s heart leapt with icy delight. Betty had bought the winning lottery ticket. The piece of paper in her hand was worth £87.5 million. One phone call and Little Motbury would have its first millionaire.
‘How much have I won?’ asked Betty.
‘Brace yourself . . .’ said Patricia dramatically. ‘You’ve won . . . ‘
‘Yesssss?’ gasped Betty.
‘Ten whole pounds!’
Patricia pulled a single note from the till and handed it to the old lady.
‘Yippeee!’ squealed Betty with delight. ‘I can eat tonight! The cat can eat tonight! I don’t have to eat the cat tonight!’
&nb
sp; ‘Congratulations, Betty!’ said Patricia, yanking off her Spendapenny tabard. ‘Enjoy your winnings.’
‘Do you want me to throw those old tickets away?’ asked Betty.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Patricia, putting the winning lottery ticket in her purse and smiling at Boil. ‘We’re just leaving. I have an urgent phone call to make.’
Deep in the bowels of the Underworld, Nyx languished on Thanatos’s throne, replacing the contents of Elliot’s satchel with a triumphant laugh. She raised a glass to the sleeping Hypnos in the corner.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ Thanatos rasped. ‘We lost the boy and we have no idea where the stones are.’
‘The stones will have to wait,’ smiled Nyx. ‘Our victory today was altogether different.’
‘I’d hardly call that a victory.’
‘You were right,’ Nyx said slowly. ‘The battle isn’t for the boy’s body. It’s for his mind. Elliot Hooper doesn’t know who to trust. He is lost and confused. Exactly how we need him to be. Now we just need him to come to us. We need his weak spot. And I know exactly where to find it.’
‘We’ve all failed to kill him,’ snapped Thanatos. ‘Even you.’
‘Oh, my son,’ said Nyx with a twisted smile. ‘As you of all people should know – there’s more than one way to die.’ She took a deep drink from her cup and threw it across the cave. ‘And now I know exactly what to do,’ she said. ‘This is how we defeat Elliot Hooper . . .’
Thanatos’s eyes widened as his mother revealed a plan so truly fiendish even he could never have imagined it.
‘And you’re sure that’ll work?’ he asked. ‘We have to succeed.’
‘I never fail,’ said Nyx, unfurling her wings.
‘Then it is done,’ said Thanatos, raising an ebony cup to his mother. ‘Victory will soon be ours. And nothing and no one can stop us.’
The two Daemons clinked their glasses and drank a deep toast, blissfully unaware that the third Daemon in the cave was just beginning to wake up.
32. Knock Knock
‘I do not understand why I am consistently selected last in P.E. – I have a great deal of advice to offer either team,’ said Virgo as she, Zeus, Athene and Elliot walked towards the shed at Home Farm that evening. ‘Today has been highly sub-optimal.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ said Elliot, whose mind had been whirring with ideas about how on Earth he was going to hide Mum’s condition from Ms Givings.
‘It’s going to be OK,’ said Zeus, putting his arm around Elliot’s shoulders.
‘How?’ said Elliot.
‘Because we are here to help you,’ smiled Athene.
‘Too bally right,’ said Zeus. ‘We’ll think of something, don’t you worry. Now let’s go and pay Hermes a visit. Maybe today’s the day.’
They walked into the shed where Hermes had been lying since Pegasus had brought him back from Stonehenge. Although Athene and Aphrodite had done a fantastic job of healing his visible wounds, he still hadn’t woken up since that terrible night ten days previously.
‘How is he?’ Athene asked Aphrodite softly.
The Goddess of Love had barely moved from Hermes’s bedside. Elliot looked at her tear-streaked face. It was heartbreaking. Beautiful, but heartbreaking.
‘I thought his finger twitched this morning,’ she said weakly.
‘Well, that’s progress,’ smiled Zeus hopefully.
‘Not really,’ said Aphrodite, choking back tears. ‘I showed him the Fashion Victim pictures in Salve! magazine. Dionysus was wearing tie-dye. He didn’t even flicker.’
‘Hi, bruv,’ said Elliot quietly, fist-bumping the Messenger God’s limp hand. Hermes’s arm flopped off the bed. Elliot carefully tucked it back inside his blanket. This was all his fault.
Athene softly cleared her throat. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s been over a week. We’ve tried everything. He’s not going to get any better. I think it’s time we accepted some difficult truths . . .’
‘Don’t you say it!’ shouted Aphrodite. ‘Don’t you even think it!’
‘Well, someone has to!’ cried Athene, tears running down her face. ‘We have to face up to it some time. He’s never going to wake up!’
‘We don’t know that!’ screamed Aphrodite.
‘I think we do,’ said Zeus quietly. ‘We’ve done everything we can. Only his immortality is keeping him alive now. If you can call this living.’
‘What are they talking about?’ Elliot whispered to Virgo.
‘No idea,’ shrugged Virgo. ‘But I have a feeling that this doesn’t end well. Although it could be that fourth enchilada I had at lunch.’
Aphrodite grabbed her brother’s hand. ‘Please, Hermy,’ she begged. ‘Please give us a sign. Something. Anything to show you can hear us. Please.’
The Gods drew together around Hermes, hardly daring to breathe lest they missed some sign of life from the comatose figure before them.
The Messenger God lay completely still.
‘This is not what he would want,’ said Zeus quietly, putting his hand on Aphrodite’s shaking shoulder.
‘We need to release him,’ said Athene through heaving sobs. ‘It’s only right.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Elliot. ‘You said you couldn’t heal him. You said you can’t heal anybody.’
‘We can’t,’ said Zeus, taking Athene’s hand in his. ‘But we can let him go.’
Virgo gasped quietly. ‘You don’t mean . . .?’ she said, putting her hand to her bare neck.
Zeus nodded, biting his lip. Athene slowly agreed.
‘Aphy?’ said Zeus to the Goddess of Love.
Elliot didn’t understand. Where were they going to send Hermes? ‘Will somebody please explain what is going on?’ he said, feeling the familiar dread rise in his stomach.
‘They’re going to take his kardia off,’ said Virgo almost inaudibly.
‘But . . . that’s . . . you can’t . . . you just said!’ shouted Elliot. ‘His immortality is the only thing keeping him alive! If you take off his kardia, he’ll . . .’
‘If we take off his kardia, his soul will be reborn in the afterlife,’ said Zeus. ‘If we don’t, he’ll stay like this for all eternity. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘You can’t do that!’ shouted Elliot, looking desperately for support from one of his friends. ‘You can’t just . . . kill him. Tell them, Aphrodite! Tell them to stop! Don’t let them do this!’
Aphrodite slowly lifted her tear-stained face. She looked at her brother, lying as still and pale as the grave, then at Elliot’s distressed face. Slowly, she nodded her head too.
‘We have to let him go,’ she choked. ‘Anything else would be selfish.’
‘I can’t believe you’re just going to turn your backs on him!’ raged Elliot through his tears. ‘I can’t believe that you’re giving up on him! What if he gets better? What if he’s going to wake up? What if this has all just been a mistake? What if . . .’
Zeus pulled Elliot into his massive arms and let his mortal friend’s tears run down his arm. Elliot sobbed into his shoulder.
‘He needs you,’ Elliot whispered between his tears. ‘You love him.’
‘He does and we do,’ said Zeus, holding Elliot tighter. ‘And sometimes that means doing what’s hardest.’
Zeus turned to his daughters, who were comforting Virgo in their arms. ‘So we’re all agreed, then,’ he said.
Aphrodite and Athene nodded. Zeus took a ragged breath, tears streaming down his lined face. He pulled his shoulders back and smiled at his family.
‘Then let’s get our boy ready for his final trip.’
Later that night, Elliot, Virgo and the Gods gathered outside the cowshed around Hermes’s candlelit body. Hercules, Theseus and Jason had joined them to bid Hermes farewell, parachuting down from the stunt plane Hercules told them he’d organized for the wake.
It was a solemn gathering. Everyone stood in silence as the flickering light dance
d across their tear-stained faces. Dark storm clouds gathered above.
‘I put him in his favourite shirt,’ said Aphrodite, wiping her eyes. ‘He always said it made his abs look “banging”.’
‘The Argus is going to publish a special tribute edition,’ sniffed Athene. ‘All twenty pages will be devoted to Hermes’s Timeless Fashions Through the Ages. It’s what he would have wanted.’
‘I’ve written a song for the occasion,’ said Jason, pulling out his lyre. ‘It’s an up-tempo number called See You in the Next Life . . . Maybe. Shall I—?’
‘No!’ said everyone simultaneously.
Zeus held out his hands to his family, who in turn held Elliot’s and Virgo’s hands, while the heroes kept a respectful distance. Hephaestus cleared his throat.
‘Never did understand ’alf of what you said,’ said the blacksmith quietly. ‘You got a right funny way o’ talkin’. But it didn’t matter none. I always understood what you did. ’Cos it was always good. Safe travels, friend. Mind how you go.’
‘Goodbye, my beautiful brother,’ sobbed Athene. ‘Your outer beauty reflected the inner. A star as bright as you will shine for ever. We will always carry you in our hearts.’
‘We love you, Hermy,’ cried Aphrodite. ‘You put the fab in fabulous, the brill in brilliant and the bosh in . . . bosh. You are a one-off designer original. Big kisses.’
‘Toodle pip, old chap,’ said Zeus in a broken voice. ‘You couldn’t have made your old dad any prouder. You’re a hero, son. Not. Even. Joking.’
With shaking hands, Zeus reached towards the kardia around Hermes’s neck.
Elliot couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘Wait!’ he cried, putting his arm over Zeus’s. ‘I just want – I just want – I just want to say . . . Thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for showing me the sunrise. You really were my . . . bruv.’
Athene pulled Elliot and a sobbing Virgo into her arms.
Zeus crouched down beside his son. ‘Let’s get rid of this old thing,’ he whispered tearfully in Hermes’s ear as he reached for his son’s kardia. ‘It’s totes last season.’
Zeus went to unfasten the golden chain from his son’s neck. He held the golden heart and flame in his hand.