Brandywine Investigations

by Angel Martinez

  "I saw the young woman on the floor. Smelled the blood. I was so frightened. But the assistants said she had been with Lord Dionysus. I sent one to fetch him. She was… was… By the time I found her."

  "She was already deceased?"

  Leander nodded miserably.

  "And you saw no one else? Neither heard nor smelled anything out of place?"

  "No, my lord. I waited until Lord Dionysus came. And he…"

  "Yes. That much I know. He accused you of murder and attacked you. I'm terribly sorry about that, Leander. I know we've promised you safety here." Lord Hades rose slowly, as if he didn't want to frighten Leander. "Can you reach your rooms? Do you need help?"

  Leander clutched the blanket around his shoulders and shook his head, careful of where his horns were when he stood. He wanted to say, No thank you, my lord. You've been very kind. But he had no voice when he opened his mouth to speak. He fled, running for the stairs and the safety of the top floor.

  His hooves drummed so loud on the marble floors he feared things were following him, and he raced faster through the maze. The way to his rooms was circuitous and twisting, built that way purposefully to further ensure his privacy. But he knew the way, and mazes held no mystery for him. They were home and had been since he was a child.

  He reached his door, an enormous construct of oak and bands of steel, his hands shaking as he punched in the code on the new lock Lord Hermes had given him the year before. More secure than a key, but just as hard to open while trembling. There… there. The lock snicked open and he hurried inside, slamming the door behind him. The floor tilted and spun, the walls still threatening to close around him. He stumbled through his parlor, past his kitchen and his study, winding further inside his own miniature labyrinth of rooms until he reached his bedroom at the center. His sanctum inviolate, where no being but himself ever came.

  Without even undressing, he flung himself onto the bed and burrowed under the comforter where he curled into a ball and wept until the bed frame shook and he lost consciousness. He slipped into evil dreams of starvation and cold, where things stalked him in the dark and he knew only bestial fear.

  He woke in an uncomfortably warm tangle of blankets and checked his clock. Past his usual dinner hour. His staff would be anxious and hungry. Every muscle ached as he forced himself out of his cocoon. Never again. Next time he had an attack he would do as Lady Hestia told him. Breathe. Find a safe spot. Meditate. Talk to someone until it passed. But simply allowing himself to panic, feeding the panic until he passed out from hyperventilation? It wasn't good for him.

  It was terrible for him. But he had to be honest. He hadn't been successful in stopping an attack yet. Leander shuffled to his bathroom for aspirin and water, then wound his way out from his bedroom until he reached the door to his garden. Sunlight still streamed through the skylights as he shuffled out into the grass. His right thigh hurt where Lord Dionysus had kicked him. His cheek throbbed from the single punch that had found his face. For the most part, the rest of the damage seemed to be bruises on his arm and back since he had managed to curl into a ball until help arrived.

  He didn't necessarily blame the god for attacking him. It had been a terrible moment for him too, and from what Leander understood, Lord Dionysus had as little control over his rages as Leander had over his panic attacks. But he would be quite happy never to lay eyes on that particular god ever again.

  The light beat against him as he sank down on his garden bench. Lord Hermes had explained many years ago that it wasn't truly sunlight. The library existed in a pocket dimension without any actual outside. But the gods had worked whatever magic necessary to mimic sunlight and day cycles for his quarters, since Lady Athena said he had lived in the dark far too long. Normally, he was grateful. Now he rubbed at the base of his horns and wished it had been a little less gloriously sunny.

  A tug on his kilt had him glancing down at the bench beside him. Despite his aching head, he had to smile. One of the magical geastrum brittanicum mushrooms who tended his garden tipped his purple-gray cap back and waved at him. When the mushroom gardener had his attention, he pointed toward the middle of the patch of grass in the center of the raised beds and containers, where more brittanicum mushrooms with their cute little white arms were piling up bamboo shoots and leaves.

  "Oh, yes. Thank you. I'm just a little slow today. But it was nice of you to get everything ready for me. Are there any blackberries yet?"

  The mushroom lowered its cap in a dejected way and he shook it side to side.

  "That's all right. A few days at most, I'm sure." Leander rose carefully, walking slowly so he didn't threaten any of the busy mushrooms. "I'd better bring these over. They're probably worried that I'm so late."

  As he reached down to gather the pile of bamboo leaves in his arms, another mushroom tugged at the shaggy hair on his ankle. He pushed the hair out of his eyes as he peered around. "Yes? I don't… oh. That's very kind of you. Goodness."

  Several of the mushrooms worked together to hold an orange up to him, up being a relative term, since their arms were so short. He retrieved it from them with great care and tucked it in his cardigan pocket. "I'll eat it later when I feel a little better. Thank you so much."

  Still walking with great care, he made his way to the door at the far side of the garden and ducked under the lintel as he pushed through into the assistants' quarters. All seven of his library assistants swarmed him, leaping from their perches and galloping out of wooden tunnel burrows. They circled him and wove in and out of his legs, chirruping in distress and standing on their hind legs with forepaws held wide in exclamations of dismay.

  He dropped the pile of bamboo leaves to one side and sank down among them, letting them crawl onto his shoulders and pile into his lap. Stroking ears and soft-furred backs, he murmured to them, trying to calm them when he couldn't calm himself. "Shh, shh. It was terrible. That poor girl. No, I don't know… I can't…"

  Just like that, tears filled his eyes again as he realized how young she must have been. The tears began to fall when he realized there might be someone waiting for her this evening, someone she would never come home to again, and the thought broke his heart. Meghan… Her name was Meghan. He hugged the pandas to him as they came to him in turn, and he sobbed over the loss and the horrible memories her death conjured. How could something from so long ago still cause him so much grief and pain?

  A paw stroked his face. Seven pairs of dark eyes regarded him with obvious concern. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he said to the panda in his arms. "I'm… I'll be all right."

  The panda on his right patted his thigh with a chek.

  "Thank you, no, Darcy. You eat the leaves. I can't think of eating yet."

  Darcy dragged the pile over so they could all eat without losing physical contact with him, holding the stalks with their clever paws and stripping the bamboo one leaf at a time. The oldest female panda remained in Leander's lap, twittering while she ate. She looked up at him halfway through her third stalk and vocalized quite sternly at him.

  "I know, Jane. Of course you're right. Movie night helps." He shifted to ease his aching leg as another of the pandas chuffed at him. "No, Bingley, we watched two different versions of Wuthering Heights this month. Elizabeth's turn to pick, I think?"

  This caused a minor scuffle, three pandas taking turns pouncing and rolling each other. The fights were never serious, more noise and wrestling than anger, so Leander rarely interfered. Elizabeth emerged the winner, returning to her bamboo with smug little growls. When the leaves were polished off and everyone had taken their stalks to the composting bin, Leander gathered Jane and Emma up in his arms, groaning as he got to his feet.

  The little ones followed as he went back through the garden to his rooms. Even they weren't allowed without invitation, but they spent most evenings with him in his front parlor and his workroom. Elizabeth picked Captain Blood from the listings—the fact that they had Internet and streaming movies another one of those things Leander
didn't question too closely. He compromised with Jane, who scolded him for not eating, and took a lemon popsicle from the freezer for himself. He was suddenly thirsty, and he did need more sticks for his current project.

  Nauseous and depressed, yes, but at least the shaking had subsided with all the little ones draped on and around him watching Errol Flynn put all other swashbucklers to shame.

  "He'll have questions for you later." Hermes flopped down on the end of the sofa and put Dio's feet in his lap. "Right now, he's talking to Aunt Hestia and her staff. Wrong part of the library, but they were there."

  Dio put his wine glass down on the coffee table. It wasn't helping. Nothing would. "I was gonna get her to move on this summer. To finally leave me."

  "Hey." Hermes shook him by the ankle. "You couldn't have known this would happen. You've done a lot of things that were your fault. This is so not your fault."

  "But if I'd—"

  "Stop. Just stop. I hate that you're hurting. I hate that Meggie's gone. But you can't do this to yourself."

  Dio thumped his head back against the sofa arm and squeezed his eyes shut. Mortals died. He knew that. Centuries of knowing that. But this hurt so damn much. "She was supposed to have a life. Her own life. Get a boyfriend. A girlfriend. One of each. I don't know. Have a kid. Pets. Do stuff. She didn't have a chance to have her own life."

  "Boss, your brother's right." George blew his nose loudly, his voice still thick with tears. "You gotta stop beating yourself up. There's nothing, not a single thing you can do."

  The room grew terribly still. Dio opened his eyes to find everyone staring at him with varying degrees of worry and wariness.

  "Damn it. I shouldn't have said that," George muttered.

  Dio sat up so fast the room spun. "But I can! I can do something. A couple of somethings. Why am I so stupid?"

  "Boss, you're not. And whatever you're thinking—"

  "Herm, would you make an Olympus run? Tell Theo and Mak to get a basket together and take it to the librarian as an apology?"

  Hermes rose slowly as if considering. "I can do that. Basket of what?"

  "I dunno. He's a bull. Stuff a bull would like. Apples? Do bulls like apples?" He waved his hands in agitation. "Whatever. I'm sure my boys know. A nice big basket of apology. Char?"

  "No." Charon didn't even raise his head from the kitchen counter where he had it buried in his arms.

  "I didn't even ask yet."

  "There's only one thing you would be asking right now, and the answer's no."

  "You loved Meggie as much as I did! How can you say that? You know I can bring her back from the Underworld. I've done it before."

  "Yes. That worked out so well." Charon finally lifted his head and glared at Dio with red-rimmed eyes.

  "I was worried about my mother, and I was right! Found her wandering despondent on the banks of the Lethe. She's happy on Olympus now!"

  "Do you know that?"

  "Well, no…" Dio sat again with a thump. "She seems happy. She has a nice place to live. Is friends with Aunt Demeter and Auntie Hestia."

  "You barreled in and took her from her place in the cycle," Charon said, his voice too soft and even. "You didn't ask what she wanted. You didn't think about whether she wanted to be immortal and stuck on Olympus because she's not a god. You just did."

  "Char, you never said any of this before."

  "What was there to say?" Charon shrugged. "You were still in too much pain to listen back then, and when I'd heard about it, it was already too late. But not again."

  "I don't need your help. It'd just take longer if I have to fly all the way to Greece and go through at Cape Matapan." Dio yanked his boots on, trying his best to tamp down on his rising irritation. Charon was hurting too. It wouldn't help to get angry with him. "Look, Char, I'm not charging down there and dragging her out. But I need to see her. To talk to her. If she wants out, I'm her ticket back, right?"

  Charon stared at him, hunched over his clenched fists, his retreat into silence indicating either deep thought or white-hot rage.

  "Please." Dio moved toward him, decided to change tactics, and dropped to his knees. He crawled the rest of the way and laid his head on Charon's thigh. "Please, Char. It's a small thing for you. Impossible for me."

  A long, shuddering sigh came from above. Charon's clawed hand came to rest on Dio's head, stroking his hair. "You don't play fair, my young lord. But you know that."

  "I'm sorry. It's—"

  Charon surged up and seized Dio's arm to haul him to his feet. For one terrible moment, Dio thought he'd finally crossed an irretrievable line. Charon's eyes were grief-stricken and wild, his long white hair a bird's-nest nimbus around his face. Then he yanked Dio into a hard embrace and the condo vanished, replaced an instant later by the polished stone of Uncle Hades's obsidian palace in the Underworld.

  Charon pointed a claw in his face. "I won't be far. Call me when you're ready. But if you bully her in any way, I will drop you into the fires of the Phlegethon so fast your head won't have time to spin."

  "Yes, sir," Dio said on a hard swallow. Scared of Charon? No, never that. But frightened of his disapproval, his disappointment. What could he say here? I promise? I won't let you down? You have a bagel crumb stuck in your hair? "I love you. You know that, right?"

  "I know." Charon sighed and turned him toward the door. "Sweet Mother, help me, I know. Go. Behave."

  Dio dashed out the massive iron doors, heading down the twisting path that would lead him to the Elysian Fields.

  The dome was nearly complete. Leander carefully shaved a bit more from the popsicle-stick piece he needed to place, smoothing a rough edge, making certain it was precisely the same size as all the others in the current row. Once the main onion dome was complete, he could begin construction of the minarets. His one regret was that the wooden model wasn't the proper color, though he supposed he could ask for paint in his next grocery list.

  He was just planning on how he could make the dome's finial later that week when someone knocked on his door. It wasn't Saturday, was it? No, his floor clock showed Friday above the face. His Friday. He had no idea what day it was in the rest of the world. Three hours past the time he should have been at work though. He cringed. It might well be one of his divine patrons come to chastise him for his laziness.

  It wasn't shirking though. He had dressed and made his way to the door, fully intending on heading to the Alexandrian Collection to clean up and put things to rights. When he had reached for the door latch, he froze, his hand shaking so hard he thought he might lose his fingers.

  Something in his library had committed murder. Something the gods hadn't found yet. Yes, it was cowardly, but he couldn't face leaving his rooms. Not yet. And what if this person knocking was the murderer? He had no way to summon help. He had—

  He had to stop this. Fear had controlled so much of his life. Had stolen so much from him. Cardigan. He needed a cardigan, only half-dressed without one. The blue one lay across the back of a nearby chair. It would have to do. He pulled the sweater on, straightened the cuffs, and opened the door a cautious inch. His visitors, a matched pair of adorable fauns carrying an enormous basket between them, certainly didn't look threatening.

  "Yes?"

  "Hi, Mr. Asterion." The mostly brown one waved. "Could we come in?"

  "No."

  "Could we give you the basket at least, sir?" The mostly white one gazed imploringly with his adorable dark eyes. "It's very heavy."

  "You're not from Lady Athena." That much he could tell. She didn't employ fauns, and they didn't carry her scent at all. The hints of scent they carried with them were familiar though. "Who sent you?"

  Brown faun cleared his throat. "We come bearing a gift of apology from Lord Dionysus. He very much regrets his actions and hopes you came to no lasting harm."

  "I… I can't accept that." Not from him, the god of mindless violence. "Please take it back to him. I'm sorry it's so heavy, but he should have thought of that before se
nding you."

  The white-haired faun rolled his eyes, then whispered in his twin's ear. They had to be twins. Fauns didn't normally look nearly identical, did they? Together they set the basket on the floor. Brown faun took his brother's hand and drew him close, running a teasing palm over his flank.

  "If you refuse the basket, Mr. Asterion, perhaps you'd like us instead."

  White faun raised a hoof behind him in a fetching way. "We hear that we're quite appealing."

  For a moment, Leander's jaw worked, but he couldn't recall a single word. Appealing? The little ones were stunning, and the offer sent a rush of heat up from his groin. He found his voice on a thought that doused any desire to a sputtering ember. "He… you… he sent you to have relations with me? He uses you like that? How… how perfectly wretched!"

  The fauns seemed perplexed, so perhaps most people were horrid enough to accept.

  "No." Leander opened the door far enough to wave an arm at them. "Take his basket and his dreadful offer back to him. And if he ever tells you to do something like this again, you tell him no! You're worth more than… than common streetwalkers."

  Blinking at him, mouths hanging open, the fauns gathered up the basket and fled, though they cast frequent looks over their shoulders, whispering to each other as they trotted away. Leander closed the door softly, leaning his aching head against the cool wood. What a horrible god, sending those dear little things for such a depraved purpose. No wonder he was such an infrequent visitor to the library, the barbarian. Maybe he couldn't even read.

  The encounter hadn't helped the anxious turning of his thoughts. Maybe Dionysus had killed the girl himself. He was certainly violent enough, uncontrolled enough. Leander pushed back from the door, shoulders slumped. He couldn't return to work today. He just… couldn't.

  The twisting, rock-strewn paths of the Underworld suddenly opened up into a grand cavern, so large the other side was lost over an artificial horizon. Light shone here, not the pale luminescence of much of the caverns, nor the flickering lamplight of the Obsidian Palace, but a pale mimicry of sunlight that faded and returned every day, leaving the cavern ceiling, dotted with luminescent moss, to serve as the night sky in between.