“That’s me,” I said, used to this by now. “I’m—”
“Danny Marina, I know,” she said. “I’m June.” From somewhere in the muumuu she came up with a brown cigarette and a purple lighter. She lit the one with the other and blew out a stream of smoke with a little satisfied smile, creating a smell of burning autumn leaves. She looked like a little purple dragon. “What are you running from, boy?”
I stared at her, a little pissed off at her nosiness. I didn’t like the word “boy” much, either. “Stuff,” I said.
She snorted, and two smoke rings came out of her nose. I had to admit I was impressed—I didn’t think that was possible. We were standing underneath a laurel oak tree, and a little breeze caught the rings, ripping them to pale shreds.
“You think you’re the only one who runs and hides, boy?” she said. “Let me tell you—I ran all my life. It was the stupidest thing I ever did.”
“What do you mean?” I asked without thinking.
She blew out more smoke. “I had a philandering husband. You know what the word means, boy?”
“I’m not stupid,” I said, almost snapping. “It means he slept around.”
“Got that right. He fucked anything that moved—girls, women, boys, probably sheep and oak trees, for all I know. And I did know. But I didn’t confront him.”
“Why not?” I was getting interested, despite myself.
“He was a good-looking bastard, and a charmer. And he brought home a paycheck. And I was supposed to be a good little wife. And once he threatened to beat me. But they were all excuses.” June shifted a little bit and leaned against the tree trunk. “I ran from the truth. I should have confronted him, but instead I did the coward’s thing.”
“The coward’s thing?”
“I went after his lovers. Sugar in the gas tank. Harassing phone calls. Brick through the window. Dead animals on the front porch.” June inhaled more smoke as she leaned back against the tree. “I’m giving you free advice, boy, and it’s worth a hell of a lot more than you paid for it, so pay attention.”
“Advice?” Now I was confused. “What advice?”
“I should have left the bastard. But I was too chicken. Instead, I ran from the truth and bullied innocent people.” She abruptly lunged forward and poked me in the chest with a sharp finger. “Don’t you do the same.”
“Bully people?”
“Run from the thing you should confront, Danny-boy.” She made a smoky, dry cackle. “Danny-boy. I like that.” And she wandered away, singing “Oh, Danny boy” like she was half drunk, the cigarette hanging from her fingertips and trailing a peacock train of smoke.
Freaking weird. I decided not to hang around the nursing home after all and instead grabbed my brown water mug and headed into town, even though a slow walk made me sweat. I ended up at the library again. They had the AC running, so I was glad to slip inside where it was refrigerator cool. I found a bank of computers with Internet access, and all you had to do was sign in on a clipboard to use one. The librarian just nodded at me from behind her desk, so I made up a fake name and sat down, the mug at my feet where the librarian couldn’t see it.
I checked my e-mail first, more out of something to do than expecting anything to read—I didn’t have any friends who’d e-mail me. So I was kind of surprised to see I had two messages.
Both from Mom.
I stared at the screen for a long time, not reacting. I didn’t want to react. It would have been way easier if she hadn’t written, or if I hadn’t checked my mail, but I had, the box was open, and I couldn’t un-know that the messages were there. The subject line on both said, “Danny Please Read!”
How could she write to me after slapping me in the face—in all kinds of ways? She’d rather believe Myron over me. I felt myself getting angry and sad again. A fist tightened in my chest. I wanted to hear from her, but I was afraid of it at the same time. I wanted to know if she still cared about me, but I was scared she did. My feelings mixed and ran together into a giant blob, like a watercolor left in the rain.
Finally I just clicked on the first message. It took a long time to load, and I almost just switched off the fucking computer.
Dear Danny, the e-mail said. Please come home. I miss you so much. I’m sorry I slapped you. I’m not mad no more, and Myron isn’t either. Please please call us when you get this and Ill come get you. Is Eryx with you? Is he ok? Please let us know. We’re worried about him too. I love you very much. Mom.
The screen got a little blurry and I wiped at my eyes. I wanted to call her, and my butt was halfway out of my chair so I could go ask the librarian if there was pay phone around. Then I thought about the letter some more, about how she’d talked about Myron and said “we” and “us” so many times. She didn’t even say anything about what I told her about what Myron had done to me—and Eryx. I couldn’t trust her, and it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t trust her. She was my fucking mother.
Pissed off now, I opened a new browser window and typed in the URL for Myron’s web site. Even though I’d only seen it once, the name was burned into my brain. There was one chance. If the shit was gone, I’d know Mom had said something to Myron and maybe it would be okay to go home. I scrolled down to the hidden login place and clicked on it. The screen flickered and I waited, drumming the table with my fingers, hoping for an error message that told me the page no longer existed.
I got a screenful of porn instead. The page was still there, along with a couple of little boxes asking for my login and password.
I glanced up, suddenly nervous, but librarian couldn’t see my screen from where she was sitting. Out of some weird-ass need to know, I scrolled down through the sample pictures Myron had loaded on the login page. And there it was—a picture of me in the shower. My face was blurred out so you couldn’t tell for sure I was underage, but I knew it was me. My cheeks burned. A little further down were a couple pictures of Eryx. His face was blurred out, too, but I still recognized him. Fuck.
I snapped off the computer and just about ran out of the library, barely remembering my fucking mug.
The next few hours were kind of an empty fog, and I don’t really remember anything much. Eventually I found my way back to the nursing home and just lay on Irene’s mattress, staring up at nothing. It was starting to get dark when I realized that Eryx was in the room. I jumped.
“Shit!” I said. “Why don’t you make some noise or something?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
I sat up, glad to see him. “How was the job? Was it hard?”
“It’s about what you’d expect. I’m tired.” Eryx sat beside me, exactly where Irene had been sitting when I kissed her. He had a greasy paper bag in his hand and his face was closed off tight. “I brought you some food from the restaurant.”
The smell of fried food wafted up from the bag and suddenly I was starving. I devoured the chicken strips and cold rolls inside it and drained the last of the water from my mug.
“Lucian wants to see you,” Eryx said. “Now. Tonight.”
“He does?” I swallowed the last bit of chicken, surprised. “Why?”
“He needs someone to work at the hotel tonight. A bunch of businessmen came in at the last minute and they got busy.”
“Oh. Okay.” It wasn’t like I had anything else to do, though I realized I’d been kinda hoping to spend the evening with Eryx. “What will I be doing?”
He shrugged again. “I started out busing tables.”
“Are you all right?” I asked. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m fucking wiped,” he said, lying down with his back to me. “I just want to sleep.”
And that’s all he would say. I wondered about that. Eryx only got stony quiet when he was upset about something, and that made me worry about the job. But if he wouldn’t tell about it, there wasn’t much to do. In any case, I—we—needed the work. I got up, already feeling a little nervous because I’d never had a real job before. Doing yard work for Uncle Zack
doesn’t really count. But how hard could it be to clear tables and sweep floors? I did that at home all the time.
Just as I got to the door, Eryx said, “Danny!”
I turned. “What?”
There was a long pause, then he said. “Good luck, I guess. You better hurry.”
0o0
I’m back from the hotel. I can’t write about it. I just can’t.
0o0
The open-air hall on Olympus went totally silent. Every god and goddess stared at Zeus or at Ganymede. Ganymede felt his mouth drop open, and he shut it again with a snap so he wouldn’t look stupid. Hebe, pale and shaken, stood perfectly still. It was clear she couldn’t believe what Zeus had just said, that Ganymede was taking over her job as cupbearer. Hera leaped to her feet, her face white in front of her purple throne.
“What in heaven are you talking about?” Her voice made the pillars shake. Deimos and Phobos zipped under Ares’s throne in terror. “You can’t replace your own daughter with a mortal. You’re breaking your word!”
“Am I?” Zeus said mildly.
Hera gestured angrily at the entire hall. Pan ducked. “We all heard you. You promised to grant Hebe new responsibilities if she gave your little … your new friend eternal youth.”
“I did make that promise, and I will keep it,” Zeus said. He turned to Hebe. “Daughter, your new responsibilities are to wait on your mother as her maid.”
Hebe looked stricken, then angry. It was a demotion for her to go from serving at the king’s table to working in the queen’s chambers. “Father, you can’t mean that!”
“Of course I can.” Zeus plucked a bit of ambrosia from the plate in front of him and downed it. “I didn’t promise you could keep your old responsibilities, after all. You fulfilled your end of the bargain and I fulfilled mine. Go on now.”
Hebe looked uncertain and unhappy, and Ganymede felt bad for her. He hadn’t asked to be Zeus’s cupbearer, and although he had to admit the idea of being the main servant to the king of gods was pretty damn cool—no, it was fucking astounding—he didn’t like the idea of getting the job by shoving someone else aside. He felt like he should say something, but he didn’t think Zeus would listen to him, so he kept quiet.
“No!” Hera boomed. “I won’t accept this, Zeus. You go too far. This mortal boy hasn’t earned the position. He’s not good enough to replace our daughter, a true goddess. You shame yourself and her in front of this entire assembly.”
The entire assembly in question was watching this conversation with a whole lot of different expressions that ranged from interested to bored, from cautious to amused, but they were definitely watching. Zeus started to look a little uncomfortable. “What do you propose, wife? Ganymede is my choice, Hebe is yours.”
“A competition, then,” Hera said. “Three contests, each one set and judged by a different god. If your mortal boy”—her lip curled in scorn over the words mortal boy—“wins two contests, he will be cupbearer and Hebe will be my maid. If Hebe wins two, she keeps her rightful position.”
“And what will happen to Ganymede?” Zeus asked.
“I will fling him off Mount Olympus as you once threw down my son Hephaestus.”
Cold fear stabbed Ganymede’s stomach. The determined anger on Hera’s face said she’d do it in a heartbeat. He didn’t doubt her for a second. And he’d heard the story of how Hephaestus had fallen for nine days and nights, then smash-landed so hard that he’d been crippled for eternity, even though he was immortal. Ganymede swallowed and glanced at Zeus, expecting him to negate that part of the contest, but Zeus only stroked his beard.
“Very well, wife. It shall be so.”
Hebe shot Ganymede a look that said You’re going down, bitch, as Hera nodded her victory. Ganymede felt fear begin to spread through him, then he abruptly stiffened his spine. What the hell was wrong with him? He was a prince of Troy! And now he was an immortal just like Hebe. He’d competed lots of times, in wrestling and hunting and races and archery and sword fighting. The stakes were higher up here on Olympus, but he could do it.
Then he saw the cool expression on Hera’s face, and he had to struggle to hold onto his courage all over again.
“Since I seem to be the challenged one,” Zeus continued, “I’ll choose the first judge. Hermes, will you do the honors?”
“Happy to!” Hermes shot up from his throne of coins and hovered directly over the central fire, the wings on his sandals fluttering like crazy to keep him aloft. He didn’t look much older than Ganymede. “Hestia, can you be a dear?”
Hestia waved her hand, and the large fire in the center of the ring table shrank into a torch which leaped into Hestia’s hand. The gentle goddess herself had no throne, so she perched on the edge of the ring-shaped table, holding the Olympian torch out of harm’s way. Hermes gestured for both Ganymede and Hebe to join him in the middle of the ring. Hebe cleared the table with one leap and landed neatly in the center area. Ganymede decided he should be able to do just as well and jumped. He ended up soaring over Hermes’s head with an undignified yelp and came down hard on the grassy ground at the far side of the ring. He stumbled and rammed his midriff painfully into the edge of the table, coming face-to-face with Hera, who sat on the other side. Several of the gods snickered or tittered. Hera leaned down to him.
“You’re good at falling,” she hissed. “I’m glad.”
Ganymede straightened and turned back to face the center as if nothing had happened, though his heart was beating a mile a micro-second. He could feel Hera’s eyes on his back.
“A good servant has to be entertaining,” Hermes said, “so just for fun, the first contest will be juggling. First one to let something hit the floor loses.”
Ganymede immediately felt better, on firmer ground. His relief lasted all of a second—Hermes conjured up a set of six golden balls out of nothing and flung them at Ganymede and Hebe. He only barely caught his three, but once he did, he got to juggling. So did Hebe. Juggling three balls was easy, and Ganymede wondered if it would turn into a simple contest of endurance.
“Who else wants to join in?” Hermes said. “Go on—don’t be shy!”
Aphrodite threw in two bouquets of flowers. Athene threw olives. Persephone threw pomegranates. Hephaestus threw them each a blacksmith’s hammer. Ganymede and Hebe caught them all and added them to the strange collection of objects bobbing up and down over their heads. Ganymede was amazed and thrilled at his own skill. He could never have done this before the ambrosia made him into an immortal. It felt as if someone had handed him the rulebook to the universe. He could see every object, sense its weight, know exactly how it would arc and fall. And best of all, he had an audience, an audience of freaking gods!
Poseidon threw horseshoes. Dionysus threw wine goblets. Demeter threw apples. Ganymede and Hebe caught them all. Hebe started to get fancy, tossing her objects higher and higher. Ganymede tossed things under his knees and spun to catch them behind his back. The gods made little noises of appreciation and even applauded when Ganymede or Hebe did something especially good.
Hestia threw torches. Hades threw skulls.
Hera threw a knife.
Ganymede saw it coming, the blade zinging, heading straight for his gut. His fighter instincts took over and he twisted out of the way. His pile of objects collapsed and sped toward the floor, the knife in the lead. Abruptly, Zeus threw a thunderbolt toward Hebe. She squeaked and jumped aside. The thunderbolt his the grass in a dramatic explosion of light and thunder. Everyone jumped. When Ganymede’s vision cleared, he found the hall silent. A hundred varying objects lay scattered across the ground with Hebe and Ganymede standing in the center.
“Who won?” asked Dionysus in the silence.
“The thunderbolt struck the ground before the knife,” Hermes said. “By the rules of the contest, Ganymede wins.”
Ganymede’s heart swelled and he shot a glance at Zeus. Zeus nodded at him, sharing the triumph. Hebe’s face set, becoming more determined, and Her
a looked pissed. But she had agreed to the rules of the game and there was nothing she could do.
“You chose the first judge,” she said, “so I choose Artemis as the second.”
Artemis was the goddess of the moon and hunting, and Ganymede figured he’d have a clear advantage here. He’d been hunting all his life. So he was a little surprised to hear her say, “I want to see a good chariot race. Whoever crosses the finish line first wins.”
Abruptly Ganymede found himself in a light hunting chariot behind two night-black horses. Hebe stood next to him in a chariot of her own, though her horses were silver as moonlight. Giant people, eight or nine times as tall as he was, loomed around him in a circle. Ganymede shrank away until he realized a second later that the giants were the gods. Ganymede, Hebe, and the chariots were shrunk to the size of dolls on the ring table.
“Go!” Artemis boomed.
Ganymede snapped the reins and the horses leaped forward. His reflexes were a little better than Hebe’s, so his team gained a tiny lead to start. Ganymede set himself in the chariot, legs bent, arms steady. He would win this easily—he’d been running chariots since he was a kid, and Hebe was a girl, not a charioteer.
And then Hebe passed him, her hair streaming behind her. She tossed a little smile over her shoulder and whipped her horses to even greater speed. Startled, Ganymede cracked his own whip, and his velvet horses thundered forward. The tabletop blurred past beneath their hooves, and Ganymede gained steadily on Hebe until they were side-by-side. Wind tore past his ears as they continued around the table. Ganymede concentrated on guiding the horses and barely noticed the giant gods leaning over the table. Their oddly deep voices thundered encouragement at both of them, and Ganymede heard some of them calling his own name.
The finish line was in sight, and Ganymede had drawn slightly ahead. It was barely fifty miniature yards away. Hera waved her hand, and the wood beneath Ganymede’s chariot changed to soft sand. It started to overturn, the horses snorting and threatening to panic. Outrage at Hera turned the world red for a moment, and Ganymede pushed the feeling aside. He managed to right the chariot and get the animals back under control, but Hebe had already rushed past him. The sand disappeared, and Ganymede tried to regain lost ground, but he was clearly too far away. Hebe neared the finish line.
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