by Diana Tyler
Damian had planned to grab a pair of running shorts out of the laundry room. But instead, he found himself standing in his sister’s room looking for her dumb diary. He didn’t know why, other than that his subconscious probably figured she might have left some sort of clue as to what was going on with the weirdo at the lake, not to mention the whole Hades hypothesis.
Although it’d been years since he’d stopped stealing it from her, he knew exactly where she kept it: on her desk between a set of bookends crammed with all her reference books. But it was gone. Above its place, an unshelled walnut sat wedged in the gap.
“Well, that’s new,” he said.
He sat in her chair and examined the desk for any other random objects. He quickly spotted a steak knife popping out of either end of a spiral notebook like a bookmark. “What in the world, Chloe…”
He shook his head as he slid the knife out and stared at the walnut. He’d never cracked open a walnut before. He pierced the seam at the end of the nut and twisted the knife like a key inside a lock. He set down the knife and easily dislodged the walnut meat with his fingers and popped a piece into his mouth. Then he got up, and started toward the door.
“Damian,” a voice whispered.
Damian spun around to see a girl standing beside Chloe’s armoire, her white robe glowing as if bathed in sunlight although the blinds were closed, concealing any hint of dawn. She wore a diamond-encrusted coronet in her auburn, waist-long, hair, and pearlescent sandals on her feet. The hem of her garment fluttered, though the closed window forbade any breeze. She was a goddess from the mythology books come to life.
Damian opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue refused to move. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Her sparkling blue eyes smiled at him as she placed a delicate hand to her heart.
“It is with joy that I deliver the news of your sister’s prayer,
I come in peace to tell you she’s cried out from Hades’ lair.
The truth has been revealed to you; there isn’t need to doubt or fear,
The time has come at last; a new beginning begins here.”
She took a small step forward.
Damian followed her gaze to the walnut halves and the pried-apart shell on the desk. “Uhhhh…was I not supposed to do that?”
Thankfully, she didn’t appear angry. He had a hunch that offending a goddess wouldn’t be pretty, especially if she was anything like the ones that populated the myths of Olympus.
A soft smile parted her lips, and she began to speak again.
“I gave a walnut to your sister, as well as the choice to eat,
In faith she took, and with her eyes she saw a glimpse of past defeat.
Her heart has been awakened to gifts forgotten yet not lost;
Powers used against your people and kept secret at great cost.
Now the choice is yours: take one more bite, or turn away,
Duna be with you, Damian; I’ve said all I can say.”
“No, wait. I…” But before he could bat an eye, she’d disappeared, leaving the sweet scent of lavender lingering in the air, the only proof he had that she’d been real.
He braced both hands behind his head and let out a breath, her rhymes ricocheting inside his skull; entwining themselves within the mélange of information already entangled there.
This was it. This was when he chose a side. He didn’t have to know all the answers to do that. He just had to trust Chloe.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Damian stormed toward the desk as if it were a trespasser up to no good. He snatched up the walnut and ate it so fast that he nearly choked. He planted his hands on the back of the chair and coughed, then watched in horror as the tips of his fingers became fuzzy, followed by his hands, wrists, and forearms.
He jumped back and sidestepped in front of Chloe’s full-length mirror. From head to toe, his whole body appeared as a translucent blur, the colors of which were fading by the second. Already, his arms and shins were invisible.
“What’s happening?” he yelled.
Frantic, he ran back to where the girl had been standing and strained to hear her voice. But she didn’t answer. He pivoted back to the mirror. With a hand over his mouth to suppress his shout, he dropped to the floor.
His reflection was totally gone. And yet…
He could still feel the carpet underneath him, and still breathe lavender into his lungs. He pressed his invisible hand to his invisible chest and felt the rapid beat of his heart. He stood up and scuffed his feet against the floor, leaving no marks. He went to the window and huffed against it, but it didn’t fog up one iota. Then he lifted his hand to the pane and hesitated. Slowly, as if worried the glass might electrocute him, he touched it, hardly feeling anything at all as his fingers slid right through it; it might as well have been water.
“Whoa!” Damian felt a light mist on his arm as he waved it outside the closed window. He pulled it back in, and tried it with his legs next, followed by his head. He was tempted to jump into the shrubs below, but then thought better of it; there had to be limits to this somewhere.
He felt his heart rate climb down as a smile spread across his face. He was still there, still very much alive. But unlike before, he was one hundred percent undetectable.
Ethan was the first out the doors when the school bell rang. It’d been the most nerve-racking day of his entire life, not to mention the most unfocused. Ordinarily, he was the most enthusiastic student in all of his classes, always eager to discuss, debate, and problem solve. But today, all he’d wanted to do was to throw his jacket over his head and find a hole to crawl into.
He felt completely helpless. Helpless to find Chloe. Helpless to stop Damian from reporting him and his family to the Fantásmata. Helpless to stop his imagination from speculating as to what might happen to them if and when they were found out.
Ethan had once asked his father what the Justice Council at Enochos did to people accused of withholding their strange sightings, and could still envision the pallor of his father’s face when he’d answered, “I’m not at liberty to say.”
More secrets. More fear. Ethan had to admit that the government’s methods were effective. They had everybody scared and silent, including those in positions of authority, like his father. How could anything ever change if even the upper echelons were filled with cowards?
Ethan couldn’t blame his father. Everyone had good reason to fear. They’d been programmed to fear. With copious amounts of literature outlining crimes and their respective punishments. With field trips to religious and judicial centers where old men in robes spoke in ominous tones about fidelity and order. With occasional glimpses of force and “corrective measures.” And with frequent rumors of brutality when someone’s behavior deviated from “unity and obedience.”
At eight years old, Ethan had watched a wolf attack and kill a man, and then witnessed that man come back to life and heal himself, too. He could only imagine what his father, a Religious Council staff member, had been privy to in his twenty years of service.
Even if a single Petrodian were to try and reform things, such as the impermeable mystery surrounding strange sightings, they would never be able to recruit enough people willing to stick their necks out. Everyone—unless otherwise assigned by the powers that be—had a family to think of and protect, another subtle weapon with which to control the sheep-like masses.
Though he wanted to sprint, Ethan walked as normally as possible to his truck. His cheek twitched when he reflexively glanced at the windshield, where Chloe had left her note the day before. He slung his backpack into the passenger seat and climbed into the cab as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He clicked in his seatbelt and pulled it out. The text was from his mother: Meet me at the museum after school.
His mom’s messages were never that bland. Always she would insert cheerful hearts and emoticons, and a Love, Mom at the end. Something was wrong. Either she hadn’t sent the text, or she was under duress.
Eth
an threw the truck into reverse and sped away, not caring who might see.
Ethan stood still to let the camouflaged door lock scan his iris. He squeezed through the door as it opened.
“Mom?” His voice echoed back to him.
A ceiling speaker crackled above his head, followed by an unctuous voice speaking through it. “Ethan, nice to have you here. Come join us in the gallery downstairs.”
Ethan clenched his jaw and stared out at his truck in the parking lot. He regretted not bringing a knife, a stick, anything to fight with if he had to. He’d been too flustered by his mom’s message to even consider the possibility of having to use force against whomever was waiting for him. His bare hands wouldn’t get him far, but it was too late now.
He rolled back his shoulders, strode to the far corner of the room, and followed the staircase down to the gallery.
“Your cellphone, please,” came a voice from behind him.
Ethan turned to meet an ancient face he hadn’t seen in ten years. It belonged to the chief councilman, the man he and his peers had heard speak the day they learned about the Coronation, the final stage of life when people graduated “from average citizen to ruling sovereign.”
Once again, the councilman was dressed in a dark purple chasuble, with a golden rope tied around his waist. His eyes were small, the black pupils of which swallowed up nearly every speck of white. The thin, sallow skin of his cheeks clung tightly, like a plastic film, to the recesses and protuberances of his skull. He was well over seventy-five, the age at which every Petrodian had their Coronation. Ethan wondered why his had been delayed.
“Where’s my mom?” Ethan withheld his phone, convinced he could take this guy in a fight if he didn’t cooperate.
The councilman placed a light hand on Ethan’s back and turned him to face the rest of the room. Five other council members, all as old as their leader, lay on their backs, forming a circle in the middle of the floor. Their eyes closed and mouths muttering, they paid Ethan no attention. Terracotta oil lamps and mounted cressets lined the walls, and somewhere, spicy incense was burning.
“She and your father are busy elsewhere,” the councilman answered, his black eyes flickering in the lamplight. “I wanted your full attention without her here, just for a few moments. Will you indulge me?”
He lifted up his hand, and Ethan watched in stupefied silence as his phone flew out of his pocket and slapped against the councilman’s palm like a magnet to metal.
“Do you see that compartment there?” The man pointed to a small niche that had been carved out of the farthest wall, beside the fossil of the gryphon’s rear foot.
Ethan nodded, trying hard to avert his eyes from the councilmen suddenly convulsing at his feet. “I’ve never noticed it before.”
“Only we know of it. It’s been here for thousands of years. It’s why we built the museum.” He began walking toward the wall and motioned for Ethan to follow. “But since it has come to our attention that you and your mother know more than we ever wished you to, it’s time you learned about it, too.” The councilman braced himself against the wall and lowered himself onto both knees. He reached inside the niche.
Ethan’s head began to swim with the strong scent of whatever resin or bark was circulating through the air. With each breath he took, he felt himself growing unusually calm, sedate almost. He blinked his eyes hard and shook his head, trying to snap himself out of the hypnotic cloud enveloping his mind, and likely the minds of the men around him.
The councilman pushed an amber tablet out of the hole. “Take it.”
Ethan picked it up and stared through the translucent block at the parchment encased within it. “What is this?”
“An oracle.” The councilman grunted as he got to his feet. He panted for a few seconds, then pulled a syringe from a pocket inside his robe and injected it into a bruised circle on his forearm. He took a deep, even breath, and with a smile lifted the tablet from Ethan’s arms. “The Vessel is foretold of in this scroll. The Vessel you’ve been good enough to track down for us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The cloying smell of the incense stung the back of Ethan’s throat.
“You’re an intelligent young man, Ethan. You must know it will do no good to lie. Especially after the notice delivered to you eight years ago, concerning Mr. Zacharias.” He smacked his lips, and gestured toward the men still mumbling and jerking on the floor, their eyes rolled back in their heads. “For days they’ve been receiving intel regarding your goings-on. I was hoping you’d come to us instead of the other way around.”
“Intel from whom?”
The councilman kissed his finger, then pressed it to the scroll. “From Apollo, god of Petros. He wishes to reward your assistance in locating the Vessel with an unprecedented honor.”
“We don’t want any rewards.” Nausea swelled in Ethan’s stomach. His eyelids grew heavy. Then he thought of Chloe, trapped somewhere in a room much worse than this, and willed himself to stay lucid. “Just don’t hurt Chloe.”
“I’m afraid, Mr. Ross, that it makes no difference what you want. The Vessel will be dealt with according to the prophecy, and you and your mother will be justly awarded.” The corners of his purple lips turned up in a repulsive smile. “Who would deny an early Coronation?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PHOBIA
The effects of the walnut had worn off after half an hour, just in time for Damian to shower and get ready for school. Being absent—or worse, somehow being found out as a freak capable of turning invisible—definitely wouldn’t help his circumstances.
All day, he’d felt restless, giddy almost, unable to think straight or sit still for more than a few seconds. When a few perceptive friends asked him if he liked a new girl or something, he had to bite his lip to avoid telling them that, yes, there was a girl, but not just any girl—a goddess. But he wasn’t in love with her; he was overwhelmed by what she’d ushered into his life, and he was champing at the bit to explore it.
He felt like an eagle stuck in a cage, surrounded by domesticated birds with clipped wings that had never known what it felt like to fly. His secret thrilled him. He was proof that the old myths were true—or at least some of them. Granted, he had to keep it to himself for now, but one day…one day his name would be known throughout Petros. He’d go down in history books as the first modern Petrodian to ever be visited by the gods.
Just before curfew, when there was still enough sunlight left for him to wander around, he reached for the walnut. But before he could take it, his entire hand vanished in a split second. He stepped into the mirror as the rest of him disappeared, not gradually like last time, but fast and all at once.
“I don’t need the nut anymore?” he asked, then waited in vain for a reply. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His first instinct was to find Ethan and Katsaros. Already he’d forgotten that he was no more than a disembodied spirit, a breeze with a brain floating around Eirene. He didn’t care, though. He felt invincible, invigorated, and ready to see with his own two eyes what really lay beneath Petros’s crust.
He didn’t know how long his visibility would last, and that concerned him. Whichever deity Chloe was praying to, he could only hope it was a logical one. He’d need at least until midnight to bring her back from hell—or so he guessed.
He ran out of the house and maintained a steady jog all the way to Lake Thyra, stopping only a few times for water and to tease the dogs in the park, catching their Frisbees and kicking their balls a little farther away before they could fetch them.
The opportunities for wreaking havoc were endless. Why had the goddess in Chloe’s room trusted him with this power? He didn’t trust himself. If it weren’t for the fact that his sister was being held prisoner somewhere below his feet, he would sneak around every council building in Petros and find out how the machine was run, and who pulled the levers.
Damian tore through the old vineyards, and bounded down the hill overl
ooking the lake in a few agile leaps. He stopped on the beach when he saw a man sitting at the tip of the sandbar, his identity masked by the glare of the setting sun.
“Well, hello there. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Katsaros?” Damian looked down at his hands. He was still invisible, even to himself. “You can see me?”
“You’re not the only one with secrets, you know.” Katsaros stood up and dusted the sand from his corduroy pants.
“You’ve got plenty. You told me all about them yesterday, remember?” Damian picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. So much for having a power no one knew about.
Katsaros smiled. “So Carya paid you a visit, did she?”
Damian could feel himself growing impatient. He had until morning to get his sister out of Hades and somehow hatch a plan to keep the Fantásmata from knowing about their family. He didn’t have time for another Q&A session with this guy.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t talk.” Damian walked past Katsaros and skimmed the water with the midsole of his sneaker, then smiled when no ripples formed.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but the portal cannot be unlocked by mortal hands.” Katsaros pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.
“Then how in Zeus’ name am I supposed to get Chloe?”
Katsaros folded his arms and began stroking his goatee. “Tell me, what do you plan to do once you’ve obtained her, Damian?”
“I plan on figuring that out once she’s back. That’s the priority, don’t you agree?” Damian took off his hoodie and rolled up his sleeves, his temperature rising with every idle second that ticked by.
“Emerging from the darkness is just the first step.” Katsaros’s gaze drifted out over the old olive tree to the limestone mountains beyond. “One act of faith must lead to another, if you’re to have victory in this life.”
Damian’s fuse was growing short. He alternated clenching his fists and relaxing them, trying to buy some time before he exploded the way he had in Ethan’s kitchen. “What do you know about victory?” he said, not trying to hide the incredulity in his tone. He looked Katsaros up and down, silently mocking his disheveled clothes, pockmarked cheeks, and potbelly.