Cry, Nike! (The Judas Curse)

by Angella Graff

  Ben’s face darkened and he gave himself a moment of silence before responding. “And?”

  “She told me that there isn’t a cure for Yehuda.” Mark let the old name of his companion roll off his tongue, tired of hearing the modern bastardization of Jude’s given name.

  “Well, I figured as much,” Ben said, not even taking notice of the name switch. “We’re probably going to have to find a way to take Apollo out, or at least bribe him or something to get him to remove it.”

  “I have a feeling that’s not possible,” Mark said, which he firmly believed. Otherwise Hades would have found a way to force Persephone to let him go long before they ever got to this place.

  Ben gave a slight hum of agreement as he tapped a small beat on the side of his mug. They both sat in a sort of awkward silence. “We can’t just leave him here,” Ben said finally, “but transporting him in this state is going to be a huge pain in the ass.”

  “Well she, um, she suggested something,” Mark said, hesitant because, since learning the information, an idea had formed into the back of his mind but he wasn’t sure it would work. And honestly, he wasn’t sure it would be worth it if it did.

  Ben quirked an eyebrow at Mark and when there was silence still, Ben said, “What are you thinking?”

  “She said something has to override his desire for Apollo,” Mark said, keeping his voice low as Alex walked into the room. He looked more rested than anyone, and he gave the two on the couch a jaunty smile before wandering into the kitchen. A moment later a pan hit the stove, the sound of plastic ripping sounded through the room, and the smell of bacon frying filled the air. Shaking his head, Mark turned his gaze back to Ben. “Something he desires more than he could desire Apollo.”

  From Ben’s expression, Mark knew the detective had caught on almost instantly. After all, out of everyone, Ben was the only one who knew everything about Mark’s story. Everything. “But you don’t feel that way about him,” was Ben’s eventual reply.

  “I know,” Mark said with a sigh, “and that’s why I’m not sure it’s even going to work. Not to mention I may have to keep it up and I’m not sure I can do that.”

  Ben scratched the back of his head in thought. “I hate to say this, but I think you may have to give it a try. If we can have Jude back on his feet, even if it’s only for a few days, it’s better than nothing. We may have a plan—well sort of—to take care of this bitch, but we’re going to need all the strength we can get.”

  Mark was mildly surprised by the answer. Lately, Ben had been taking the moral high road, especially with his crusade to free the human Andrew, and it wasn’t as though Mark blamed him. Persephone had really worked a number on the detective and Mark understood where he was coming from. But Mark also knew he could count on Ben to ultimately make the decision that was best for everyone, and if that meant leading Yehuda on for a period of time, both Ben and Mark were willing to look the other way.

  “When are we leaving?” Mark asked finally.

  “Andrew is going to have another scan for Asclepius, though this time he’s not going to be completely leaving the apartment,” Ben said, his voice a little tense with that subject. “If we still can’t find him, we’re going to see about persuading Persephone to use her little mirror trick to track him down.” Ben rubbed his tired eyes and gave another heavy sigh. “In all honesty, I think he ran. I don’t think he wants to go. He was a total chicken-shit during the events at the compound. He didn’t lift a finger to put up a fight and I have no doubt he would have turned on us both if he didn’t think we could get him out in one piece.”

  Mark nodded his agreement. Asclepius was a pleasant enough person but Ben was right about the god’s desire for self-preservation above all other things. Then again, all the gods seemed to be like that, and Mark was quickly seeing the massive gulf between the nature of humans and the nature of the gods. It was no longer such a surprise that the world no longer needed these perpetual toddlers around.

  Ben slapped his hands on his knees, startling Mark slightly, and he rose. “I’m going to grab a plate of whatever Alex is cooking. Want anything?”

  Mark shook his head. He couldn’t have eaten even if he’d been hungry, but he wasn’t in the slightest. He was anxious, and he was about to go try and wake his companion by confessing a love that didn’t exist. It was wrong, and it was going to hurt Yehuda so much in the end when Yehuda learned the truth that it made Mark feel sick. But what choice did he have? The only other person Yehuda had ever felt for was long dead, and after that old painter had died, Yehuda shut himself off from the rest of the world. Mark was just left without any other options.

  Ben seemed to read the expression on Mark’s face and knew what the immortal was about to do. He walked out of the room without another word, leaving Mark to ready himself. Not a lot of prep was needed, though. He just had to convince himself that this was the right thing to do and then see if it worked.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hades watched Nike out of the corner of his eye. She was on the bed, stretching languidly like a cat, her back arched, fingers splayed out, and she looked almost serene. The body she was in was very pretty, but Nike’s fury and desire was so strong in enveloped anything the mortal soul inside could try and get through. Hades wanted to know if Abby was still alive in there, but there was just no telling.

  He wasn’t enjoying this little stint with the goddess either, though he couldn’t deny the pleasure of feeling her writhing beneath him, arching, begging for more, letting him take control. He’d had many lovers in his life, so many he’d lost count between gods and humans, a desperate attempt to try and wash Persephone from his head. It never worked, though it helped him dull the ache for a time.

  Nike, however, was just insane. He recalled a time when she wasn’t, when she was just strong and able and so damn smart, but she hadn’t been that way in far too long. He wasn’t sure what broke her, though he could guess. She’d lost her purpose, her reason for being, and the fear of what lay beyond was enough to drive any of the gods mad, really. Eventually, though, their madness tended to lead them straight into the void. Nike had taken it a different way.

  He was buttoning up his shirt when he felt her hand creep up his back, fingers curling around his shoulder, and she yanked him back onto the bed. She was naked and smelled overwhelmingly of sex, of his own secretions and those of the human body she was inside. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but he was ready for some fresh air and a change of scenery.

  Besides, it was time to drive Apollo away. Hades had managed to sneak away while Nike slipped into unconsciousness and break the barrier holding back Asclepius, who gave him a grateful nod before winking out of existence. Wherever he’d gone, Hades was fairly certain he was not planning to stick around and help the others, though he didn’t want to relay that message to the group. Hades wanted Persephone gone and Stella dead. Best let Ben think he still had a chance to use that god until he took care of Hades’ problem.

  He made it back to the room long before Nike woke, and he could feel Apollo in the other room with that poor, tortured mortal, just seething with rage. Hades knew if Apollo was anywhere near close to breaking his cover, now was that time. It was more likely, however, that he could drive Apollo away. Nike would reject him regardless. She didn’t like being lied to, and it was clear she’d had it with his simpering puppy love.

  Creeping her fingers up his arm, Nike pulled Hades’ face toward hers and kissed him. She was hovering over him, her favorite place to be—above others—and she had a slight grin on her face. “I’m not sure what you did,” she purred, her fingers gently tangling in his hair, “but I feel better than I have in weeks.”

  Closing his eyes, Hades reached out and felt her. She was repairing, shifting back to her former self, whatever powers that had repaired the human body were starting to dissolve, which meant Nike would be ready to move. He masked his disappointment by pulling her down into another, hot kiss and then pushed her away.
/>   “What are we doing to do about him?” he asked, nodding his head at the door.

  Nike pouted a little at the physical rejection, but it only lasted a moment. She rolled off the bed and crossed her arms over her naked breasts. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, he doesn’t really do much, but he’s not bad to have around. That human body he’s got is pretty damn strong and proven pretty helpful from time to time.”

  Hades snorted with laughter inwardly as he carefully slipped into his trousers. He felt sticky, in need of a shower, and he could feel an ache in the wing-joints from being pressed to the mattress for the better part of the last twenty-four hours. He stretched them, though he kept them invisible. He didn’t want Nike distracted. He had to get rid of Apollo and it required deft handling.

  “He’s jealous, you know that, right?”

  Nike threw her head back and laughed, the almost metallic sound rushing out of her mouth, and she began to rummage through the detective’s drawers. She settled on a plain white t-shirt that was worn and so see-through she may as well have put on nothing. “Of course I know he’s jealous. That idiot’s been after me for centuries. What’s the point? You had me; hell, you have me, darling. It’s not like he’s going to come up with some magic word to make me suddenly give in.”

  Hades softened his expression and approached her. She positioned herself in front of the mirror in Ben’s half-bath and began to run a brush through her long, dark locks. Hades snaked his arm around her middle and as she cocked her head to the side, he kissed along her neck.

  “Mmm, yes, I know you’re not going to change your mind and choose that bumbling moron over me,” he purred against her ear. He gave her lobe a little nip, making her press back into him slightly. “But you do realize the kind of resentment jealousy leads to. And resentment breeds mistakes, especially when it matters. The last thing I want is for him to do something stupid right when we’re about to open the portal.”

  Nike smirked a little, looking at Hades’ reflection in the mirror. “It’s ‘we’ now, is it?”

  “Didn’t take much convincing,” he said and pressed against her backside.

  She gave a little growl and twisted her head to kiss him, her tongue pushing hard into his mouth, demanding and forceful. “If only I’d known all you needed was a little bit of…” but his own demanding mouth stopped her from speaking any further.

  He was winning her over, just a little push and Apollo would be out, and he knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed. What the god inside her craved, and it wasn’t just the human touch. It was the idea of what she might have if she could regain her corporeal form.

  Hades tossed her on the bed and pressed a knee into the mattress between her open legs. Drawing his hand up her side, letting his nails scrape along the skin, he stared at her. “Get rid of him. We don’t need him.”

  Her eyes were glossy and half-lidded with desire and he knew she had given in. His hand drew further in and he didn’t protest as she struggled to undo the zipper at his waist. “We don’t,” she gasped as he slipped inside of her.

  He pressed into her hard and made sure she wasn’t looking anywhere but at his face. “We only need each other.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  He took her again, over and over until they were both exhausted and Hades was absolutely sure that she belonged to him. Such a simple task, a menial one, really, and she was so weak and so desperate to be controlled. He was the only one who hadn’t forgotten that the goddess of victory belonged to men. They commanded her, controlled her, cried out her name in a battle they forced her to fight. And even with the sacrifices and offerings, she was a slave to war, slave to men, and that was all Hades needed to remember to own her.

  “I’ll call them in the morning and tell them they need to move,” Hades said as Nike finally readied herself for the day.

  She was smiling as she slipped on a small, black dress and she seemed to appreciate Hades’ naked form languidly spread across the sheets. He had no rush to move now that he’d accomplished his task. They would, of course, move out, and pretend like they had a chance, and he would feel no regret when Stella lay dead and the souls of the fallen gods were banished from this universe. It was no longer their time, and all Hades wanted was to be free.

  ~*~

  He stood on the balcony later that evening, a thin cigar pressed between his sheets and one of his favorite German beers hanging loosely in his hand. Nike had retired, claiming she needed to be at her strongest. She hadn’t abandoned the body, but she was hanging on by a thread and needed the rest.

  The fight with Apollo had been short and he’d left without a word when she commanded him to go. She vowed he would be spared in the end, when they came through, but he didn’t seem to care. Not a word of warning, a single protest as the door slammed. Mission accomplished.

  Of course he wasn’t surprised when Apollo suddenly perched on the railing of the balcony, his eyes narrow in anger, coat flaring in the heavy San Francisco breeze. He looked sort of beautiful right then, like those old paintings depicting Angels as the watchers of mankind. Had they only known, those ancient humans, what Angels really meant, what they wanted, how wrong they had been, he wondered what their images might be like now.

  “I know what you’re up to,” he said.

  Hades smiled softly and crossed his arms over his chest. “So why not tell her? Why not tell her the truth about what you are? Tell her what I’m up to. Save the day.”

  Apollo’s jaw clenched and he ruffled his wings against the wind angrily. “Hades.”

  “Apollo,” Hades repeated in the same, dark tone. “Don’t you want to be free? Don’t you want whatever shit hold she has on you to be gone? We weren’t meant to be servants of the gods and you know it!” Something was breaking inside of Hades, and emotion he hadn’t faced in years. His skin heated up and he felt the beer bottle drop from his hand. “We’re stronger than they are. We live and walk among humans. We can touch and feel and we’re not dependent on a single thing for existence, yet we’re slaves to them. Echoes of their former glory and they want us to bow to them.” He finished his last sentence coated with disgust and anger, and he took a deep breath to control himself.

  “You’re going to fail,” was all Apollo had to say. In a flurry of feathers, he’d gone, leaving Hades there on the terrace alone. Apollo would have to get there on his own, realize how much control these weak, pathetic things had on them, and once he realized he no longer needed to belong to them, he would come around.

  Hades lit another cigar and looked mournfully at the spilled liquor that was now dripping over the edge of the balcony. Not that it mattered. There would be plenty of time to enjoy the fruits of human labor and discovery soon enough. Soon enough Nike would be gone and he would no longer feel that dull, constant ache Persephone had given him, and he would be free.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The room was nearly pitch black, despite the sun shining full in the sky. Someone had draped a blanket over the curtain rod in Jude’s room to keep the temperature down. It hadn’t done much for the feverish man, but Mark appreciated the gesture.

  Jude hadn’t moved from his position on the bed, slightly curled on his right side, his face contorted in agony, and Mark didn’t want to know what his immortal companion was dreaming about. He’d suffered too much pain to even begin to imagine what Jude was reliving.

  Jude was dehydrated now, the fever having drawn out all the moisture, and even though he’d been given drops of water, his skin was dry, paper-thin, and boiling hot. Mark couldn’t let his companion suffer any more. Enough was enough. They had to end this, and if this was the only thing they had, he was going to use it.

  Kneeling beside his friend, Mark reached out and let his cool fingers ghost across Jude’s burning cheek. It hurt to touch him, no human should ever be that hot, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. He was sorry for a lot of things. Part of him, the raging selfish part, sometimes wished he�
��d just gone to Rome with his grandfather. No one would have remembered his name, and there were loves that would have been lost to time. Jude would have suffered alone, but it would have saved Mark so much pain. So much.

  Mostly he was just sorry he hadn’t gotten to Jude in time. That he’d given in to this fatigue and retired to bed, letting Alex and Jude alone to fend off whatever sort of creature Apollo was. He didn’t know the point to this either. Why Jude? Why force Jude to endure. Jude wasn’t going to save the planet or stop Nike. They could do it alone, Mark was sure of it.

  Likely it was just to be cruel. Simply because he could, and Mark hated Apollo for it. The rage flooded through him, surprising him, and he had to shove it down, deep into the recesses of his mind because this was no time for hatred. He had to draw Jude out of this, to remind him he had other things to live for, other things to love.

  He closed his eyes and reached down Jude’s body to grab his hand. His companion didn’t react, but Mark hadn’t expected him to, either. “Jude,” he said and squeezed the hand tightly. Jude gave a little moan, shifted slightly and then stilled.

  It wasn’t like he’d never been with a man before, that wasn’t the issue bothering him. Being alive for two-thousand years, Mark had found companionship with people he hadn’t expected and gender didn’t occur to him. No, his issue was simply that Jude, for two-thousand years, had loved him, and Mark just never did. He didn’t know why; he should have loved this man lying on the bed because half of the things Jude suffered, he suffered for Mark. Sometimes alongside him, sometimes in place of him, to protect him.

  Now he was about to lie to him to try and save him, but he wondered if in the end it wouldn’t break him worse than he was already broken. And how, he wondered, was he going to convince Jude of that love. How could he mimic something he didn’t feel. Sure, he’d loved before. His first great love, tall and lanky with eyes that pierced straight into his soul. She’d given Mark his dream, that great Library, those moments preserved in his immortal mind. He’d never wept so hard than when she had been torn apart by the mob and burned on that great pyre, turning to ash with the scrolls she so loved. The scrolls she died to protect.