Red Demon

by Deidre Knight

  He approached Leo again, gentler this time. “Sir,” Ari tried, “really, I know you said you like Donna Summer and all, but this is a little advanced for a beginner. Maybe we should try something under a hundred beats per minute.”

  “Aristos,” Leo replied, “are you intimating that I’m too old to maneuver within the confines of this modern gymnasium?”

  “This isn’t the Agoge training ground, sir. Nobody’s running sprints or wrestling nude.”

  Ajax cut in. “I might, if Shay’d ever get back from the store.”

  Leonidas ignored the other warrior, still attempting the movements. “You find me too ancient minded to keep pace in this game the rest of you have mastered?”

  “Not at all, sir.” Ari gave his king a solemn bow of respect. “I’m just saying that the people who created this game are perverse little fuckers who enjoy giving humans migraine headaches and vicious eyestrain. Our prank is up, my lord.” Ari lowered his voice in a confessional tone. “None of us know how to make this damned machine work.”

  Their commander stopped dead at that, staring at him without blinking, and would have undoubtedly continued to do so for an indefinite amount of time, except that the house phone rang over on the bar.

  “Someone’s calling,” Ari announced in an overly bright voice, thanking the Highest God above that he’d been saved a dressing-down for insubordination.

  He instantly regretted that he’d ever considered this particular caller his savior. In fact, the woman on the other end of the line was more like a messenger straight from Hades itself.

  “Cecilia,” Ari mumbled into the phone, “I’ve already told you. Plenty of times now. I’m not coming.”

  She released a long feminine sigh of frustration. The woman was a perfect Southern lady, even when annoyed. “Then put Emma on the line,” she said. “Perhaps my daughter can knock some sense into that thick head of yours. And if she can’t, then maybe River will. You do still listen to my son-in-law, don’t you?”

  River. Consummate warrior. Shape-shifter extraordinaire. The best pal he’d ever had, in any century. And, as of very recently, husband to Emma Lowery, a human medium who heard voices from beyond the grave—sometimes the source of those words was even heaven itself. It was a talent she’d inherited from her mother, the same woman who currently sniffed her delicate but unmistakable irritation on the other end of the telephone line.

  For weeks now Cecilia had been calling, urging him to visit her brownstone in downtown Savannah. She had a message for him, she claimed, from a dead woman; not such an outrageous assertion, considering Cecilia’s abilities. It was the identity of said dead woman that troubled him greatly.

  He clenched his teeth, counting silently to ten in ancient Greek, then replied, “Emma’s not down here.”

  “Down where, Aristos? Hades? Because surely you must be in hell right now, what with the way you’re ignoring poor Juliana’s spirit.”

  He groaned. “Nothing pitiful or poor about that woman, dead or alive.” He visualized Juliana’s deep red hair, the way the auburn hue had once shimmered and changed color when reflected in the candlelight, almost as if it had a life of its own. Now, more than a hundred years later, she remained the most vital, strong woman he’d ever known. “Trust me; nothing about Juliana ever needed my pity.”

  Or my love.

  “She suffers, Ari. Because you refuse to come, refuse to let me share her message, she is in torment. Doesn’t that matter to you? You once told me you loved her more than any woman you’d ever known. If that’s true, how could you keep her in such agony?”

  “I never said that I still love her.” He swallowed, rubbing a hand over his chest. His heart felt as if it might explode, it was beating so rapidly. He swallowed again and whispered, “I loved her, and she died. End of story. Has been for a very, very long time.”

  “True love never dies, Ari. Neither does the human spirit.” She laughed gently, knowingly. “But you’re already well aware of that fact.”

  He pressed his eyes shut, wincing at the verbal blow. No, despite his ridiculous assertions, his love for Juliana had definitely never died . . . nor had his anger at the why and how of that death. A throbbing pain began at his temples, accompanied by a tight burning sensation much like the one in his chest. Oh, his deep, tormented love for Juliana was very much alive; after all, when one has roamed the earth for more than two thousand years, what are a mere hundred of them in the overall scheme of things?

  “Her love for you is as vibrant as it ever was. Surely you feel that now . . . every time I call.”

  Ari stalked to the far side of the small kitchenette. If any situation in his life had ever called for privacy, it was definitely his current distress over Juliana. No wonder he’d never told River or any of his other Spartan brothers about her. He couldn’t have handled the ball busting they’d have dished out—not about her.

  He faced the pine-paneled wall of the kitchenette, studying the swirled grains of the wood, how they seemed like eerie faces staring out at him. The thought forced him to look away.

  “You hear all kinds of voices, Cecilia,” he answered. “You might even be channeling some demon who wants to infiltrate our camp, or some other spirit, or—”

  “God himself?” she supplied demurely. Which could be true; Cecilia was descended from the oracles of Delphi, as were Emma and his own brother’s wife, Shay Angel. That line of women definitely heard the words of the Highest God and translated them when required.

  Ari forced a laugh that he didn’t feel inside. “I doubt He would claim to be a dead society woman from Victorian-era Savannah, don’t you?”

  “You don’t dare to believe.”

  “Oh, I believe, Cecilia,” he said, thinking of all that he’d observed while hanging around Shay and Emma and Cecilia herself. Not to mention the centuries he’d lived, the supernatural battles he’d waged. He definitely, truly believed. That wasn’t the problem in this situation.

  “I know exactly what you Daughters of Delphi are capable of. And I know that Juliana was your great-aunt, so I have no doubt that she could somehow revive her spirit long enough to conjure something, anything, for me.”

  If she ever truly loved me.

  “You’re afraid. Of her, your feelings . . . of what she might say.” Cecilia released a disappointed-sounding sigh. “And here I thought Spartans were the bravest men to ever roam the earth.”

  Oh, no she didn’t, he thought, and was preparing an appropriate verbal takedown when she spoke in a lower, more intense voice than she’d ever used with him before. And the hair on the back of his neck instantly stood at attention in response.

  “She gave me proof,” Cecilia said.

  His palms began to sweat. “What do you . . . ?” He rubbed his forehead, trying to calm his racing thoughts. “You can’t possibly have proof. She’s been dead since 1893, Cecilia.”

  “You of all people shouldn’t argue about the perversities of immortality and the beyond, Aristos Petrakos.”

  She had him there, and they both knew it. She continued. “Did you not die yourself once? More than two thousand years ago?”

  “I’m not like Juliana. I made a bargain.” He thumped his chest as if Cecilia could see him. “Not saying it was a good one, but that’s beside the point. I made a deal with a devil, and that’s why I’m here, still treading life when I’d rather—”

  “I have solid proof that Juliana’s spirit is right here in my house. You know that this was her home; why wouldn’t you believe that she’s here?”

  Because long ago she killed our love? Herself?

  “She’s running out of time, Aristos.”

  The words hit him like a wall of ice. Cecilia was right—he was a coward when it came to Juliana Tiades. But his heart had been far too broken, and for far too long, to risk opening it again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said at last, and ended the call.

  The kitchenette was secluded from the rest of the downstairs, but Ari could still he
ar the whoops and hollers from his compatriots playing Wii in the adjoining recreation room. With a groan, he leaned his full weight against the stainless-steel refrigerator and doubted everything. Himself. The newly acquired power in his body. His decision to ignore Cecilia and her persistent calls.

  What if the eccentric woman was right? If Juliana was truly reaching out to him, then he was turning his back on her.

  It was as if a million voices scrambled for attention in his mind, and he wondered how much of that confusion might be a result of his recently acquired “abilities.” Or power. Or curse. Whatever you wanted to call it, he had undergone a tremendous change in the past two months, all in the name of brotherhood and friendship.

  River had wanted to become mortal in order to live a normal life with Emma, so Ari had made a new bargain, this time receiving River’s own mantle of power in a supernatural exchange. No small thing, considering Ares, god of war, had seeded the powers of life and death inside his best friend. As a result, Ari was now packing a supernatural Smith & Wesson, so to speak. He bore not only his own power, but River’s as well now, and that was one helluva dangerous brew, considering that River’s gifts had often left him torn between violent madness and raw sexual aggression.

  Ari bowed his head, burying it in both hands. The energy in his body felt alive tonight, his soul on fire, even more so after talking to Cecilia. In fact, the cool, metallic surface of the refrigerator only pointed out how heated his body had become.

  A firm hand clasped his shoulder, startling him; he looked up to find River’s concerned eyes fixed on him. “Why does my mother-in-law keep calling you?” his friend asked, grip tightening. “And why are you avoiding her?”

  Ari sighed; he really wasn’t ready to confess all, not even to his best friend. Then again, River might already know the bitter details of his past with Juliana, at least if Emma had shared them with him. Ari knew enough about husbands and wives, especially newlyweds, to realize there weren’t usually any secrets of consequence between them.

  Ari had never told any of the brotherhood, not even River, about his time during that mission in Savannah. Or about the society woman he’d loved and wooed during those sultry summer months of 1893. He’d certainly not shared the details of her death, or how he’d grieved for her—or for how blasted long. He’d told no one until that day at Cecilia’s home more than two months ago, when she’d blindsided him with a faded photograph of Juliana, he standing at her side. Emma had been with him when he’d seen it, and he’d not thought it fair to ask her to keep secrets from River.

  “We never keep secrets, friend,” River prompted as if reading his thoughts. “Emma’s obviously aware of whatever this is about, but she told me to talk to you. She wouldn’t betray your confidence; you should know that.”

  Ari groaned, wishing that he could dematerialize and land somewhere very far away. At least Emma had kept silent until now. “River man, look,” he said quietly, “just let this one go.”

  His best friend’s answer was to give him a hard shove in the chest. “You bullheaded idiot. You’ve been moody for weeks, alternating between being a total smart-ass and a depressed moron. Something’s obviously bothering you, and I’m figuring it has to do with Cecilia’s calls.”

  “We both know that’s not the only change in the past few months,” Ari said meaningfully.

  River frowned in obvious concern. “Are you referring to the power exchange? Are you having side effects?”

  Ari stared at the floor, wishing he’d kept his trap shut. What was it about River Kassandros that always made him blab the private shit? Well, not quite always. River had never caught even a clue of what the original Savannah mission had done to Ari.

  Ari shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe . . . I dunno.”

  River stared at him, hard, as if he could penetrate Ari’s mind with that single glance and know the truth. A truth River surely realized Ari would never own up to, not with the way they always watched each other’s backs. If River learned that their recent trade had begun to play havoc with Ari’s mind and soul, he’d go to Leonidas, the Oracle, and anyone else he could think of. All the way to heaven or Hades itself to reverse their situation, and Ari wasn’t about to allow that. Not when River finally had a happy, secure life; a free one, after millennia as a slave and berserker.

  “Dude, how’s ’bout bugging out of it, huh?” Ari tried to laugh. “I’m cool. No worries. Everything’s copa- fuckingcetic.”

  River glared at him. “So it is the power you assumed. Obviously, you’re having a hard time managing it.”

  Ari groaned and bit back what he wanted to say, which was that the timing of the whole thing was the real bitch. Juliana reentering his life at just this moment was an added complication to an already brewing shit storm. Every time Cecilia called him, the energy in his body screamed its defiant rebellion a little more loudly.

  Ari shifted under River’s intense study, but his best friend didn’t back down. “If it’s the power,” River said, dark expression intensifying, “then you need to talk to me. I had to shoulder it for more than twenty-five hundred years—”

  “You think I don’t know what you fucking lived with?” Ari barked bitterly, both hands trembling violently at his sides. “Guess what, brother? I’m living with it now.”

  River’s usually warm eyes widened, his suspicions clearly confirmed, and then his entire expression became very sad. “Ari,” he murmured, grief in his voice. “Oh, gods, Ari, I’m so sorry. I’d hoped . . . believed the current would be different inside of you.”

  “Why would it? Because I’m a bigger jackass than you?” Ari tried to laugh, but River’s expression only grew more somber.

  “Because you are a better man than I,” he said seriously.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it. If anything, I’m far too rash, rude, and blundering to deserve what you gave me. The power of life and death? Inside of me?” He pointed at his heart. “What a joke. I’m such a perennial fuckup, even my younger brother outranks me.”

  River shook his head with slow intensity. “You’re not yourself, and comments like that prove it. You’ve always been one of our bravest, most valiant warriors. That’s why Ares chose you after Thermopylae.”

  “Why did you choose me, anyway?”

  River seemed to think about the question, looking off to the side for a long, pensive moment. Finally, his gaze slid back to Ari, eyes bright. “There was no one else I’d have trusted. Not to remain uncorrupted by so much power.” River blew out a guilty sigh. “But I should have thought harder about what it might do to you.”

  Ari seized his friend’s arm. “I don’t regret my decision,” he rushed to say, but knew his reassurance was too late. “River, I promise. It’s not like this all the time. Not even a lot of the time. It’s this thing with Cecilia, how she won’t leave me alone . . .”

  “Her calls upset you, and you experience a power surge,” River finished knowingly.

  “Yeah, it’s like an explosion, beneath my skin, down in my muscles.” Ari lifted his heavy forearms, flexing them in the air. “Like a grenade goes off inside me.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “Right down in here . . . some fucker pulls the pin, and it just explodes.”

  “Trust me,” River said. “I know that feeling. Unfortunately all too well.”

  Ari nodded, studying his best friend’s face. So familiar . . . and yet so very different since their fateful trade. There was a peace in River’s eyes and facial expression that had been lacking throughout their eternal years together. Ari shivered, wondering whether his own features had changed for the worse, whether the weight of what he’d accepted had transformed his appearance.

  As if in reaction, a jolt of electricity sizzled through his fisted hands, and there was an answering explosion from the other side of the room.

  “Damn it, Ari!” his big brother, Kalias, cursed. “That’s the third Wii you’ve fried this month.”

  He gave his brother the middle-finger sa
lute, even though he couldn’t see it from the next room. “So bill me, Kaliass,” he shouted irritably.

  And instantly felt the burn inside his body intensify tenfold.

  River clearly saw that change, because he cuffed Ari by the neck, hauling him toward the stairwell. “Move out,” River commanded.

  “Why?” Ari wrenched out of River’s grasp. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

  “Cecilia’s. We’re going to deal with whatever the problem is,” he announced, shoving Ari forward. “And you’re going to tell me the whole story. Now.”

  Chapter 2

  The wind atop Olympus blew warm and brisk, whipping Daphne’s hair across her eyes. She stepped onto the stone portico that led to her brother’s palace, one of the most elaborate of all the gods’ homes, situated just below the mountain’s peak. From within, sheer curtains billowed in golden invitation.

  Ah, brother, your beauty is always so deceptive. Even your palace lies for you.

  Normally she preferred leather and miniskirts to the traditional white gown she’d donned for this familial visit, but things were tense enough with Ares right now. She didn’t need her fashion choices pointing out that he no longer controlled her destiny.

  She entered the throne room, following one of her brother’s female servants; the woman was practically nude, clothed only in links of delicate gold chain and a diaphanous skirt that hid nothing. Ares rose from a velvet settee and greeted Daphne, drawing her uncomfortably close.

  “I see those grimy Spartans haven’t corrupted you yet, sister. At least not fully.” He pressed his nose against the crown of her head, inhaling her scent. “Or perhaps you merely bathed before entering my presence. That would account for the aroma of lilacs.”

  He slid one arm about her waist, walking her toward his throne. It was a monstrous, ornate slab of gold that he’d commissioned some age or two ago, engraved with images of homage and victory. They were his usual self-adoring fare: Ares astride his stallion; Ares borne aloft a shield; Ares being lavished with maidenly kisses.