Thanatos

by Carmen Kern

  “New face?”

  Phobetor touched the top of his head briefly before waving a hand over his face and torso, shedding the mask to reveal black hair, empty eye sockets, and black teeth. “Not new. I wore it for the nightmare of a thirty-something who believes he’s cursed. I orchestrated a cloud of blackbirds to fly into his patio door and break their necks. Ninety-nine in all. They pile up under his window where the maggots feast on their carcasses. And then they come back to life and squawk at him from the ground. I’m in his head at least once a week, sometimes more. His nightmare tastes of cardamom.” He licked his lips.

  “Why ninety-nine birds?”

  “’Cause it ain’t one hundred.” Phobetor shrugged, sliding his dark-framed glasses up his nose to hide his empty eye sockets. “I was about to peck out the guy’s eyeballs when Kevin from Security texted me.”

  “He didn’t text me. Why is that?” Thanatos glanced at his brother and snatched his keyboard. With the press of a button, twenty large screen monitors lit up with the manufacturer’s logo and hard drive fans began to whirl in a gentle hum.

  “I’m letting you know now.” Phobetor glided to the neighboring monitor, his fingers hopping and clicking on the keyboard. “This world was supposed to be our panic room. Our Batman lair, fully functional and fully supplied for at least a year. Long enough for humans to turn feral over the lack of food and water.” A quick glance up, and his fingers stopped typing. “Unfortunately, we might not have that long.” His thin fingers shot out and swiveled the monitor toward Thanatos. “The camera video from this side of the northern veil.”

  The video jiggled and then steadied, as if something bumped the camera. The camera blurred and zoomed in on two tracks in the sand that faded off to a point in the distance.

  “Someone or something is in my Badlands.” Thanatos eased his feet off the desk and leaned forward in his chair. “Show me the next surveillance we have. Put it on all screens.”

  There was a click-clack of keys, a staccato of sound in an otherwise quiet room. On screen, at the base of a dune, the sand was indented, flattened in a messy circular shape.

  “Something was nesting there.” Phobetor zoomed in with a click of a key. “Nothing living could make it across your Badlands.” His deep eyes turned on Thanatos. “That’s what you told me.”

  Thanatos zoomed in on the video. Sand whipped against the camera housing, blurring the live feed, but when the winds calmed, the images were all the same. Two trails through an endless canvas of desert.

  “Follow those tracks.” He stood up and backed away from his desk to check all the screens in the room. Each one showed a different angle of a similar shot.

  Phobetor keyed in time sequences that corresponded with Kevin From Security’s text and called up all cameras in the sector. Colors and images flashed and dimmed according to the landscape. The location of the cameras moved in closer and closer to the border walls of their dark city.

  “The cameras pick up remnants of something…just trails but not the being itself.” There was an audible swallow from Phobetor. A dry sound of his Adam’s apple grinding against sandpaper.

  “There.” Thanatos pointed to the largest screen in the room. “Zoom in on the ground at the edge of that cobblestone. There!” The word pounded. If it were inked, it would be thick, black, and fill an entire art panel. “Rewind.”

  The image was slightly pixelated, but the object was clear like a rock under glacial waters.

  Phobetor slammed back into his chair.

  Thanatos moved slowly toward the oversized screen until he stood millimeters away from the glass, his nose level with a cigarette encased in silver, etched with Greek symbols, the lit end glowing orange. It lay partially in the sands of the Badlands and partially on the cobblestone road of Necromourn—his great city.

  Wind and sand blew over the ever-burning cigarette, exposing and covering it up while time flowed on.

  Thanatos clenched his fists. “Hades?” It was a whisper wrapped in venom and fear.

  “I didn’t write his storyline into our next comic issue,” said Phobetor. “It can’t be him.” He pointed to a bookcase that was only half full. The rest of the steel shelving units built into the curved wall, above and beside the only door to the drawing room, were full. Hundreds of issues dating back to the year 1940. All of them illustrated by Thanatos and written by Phobetor. Their immortal lives’ work. “You sealed up our version of Deadman’s Island. Hades was left there to rot.”

  “Stop the video.”

  Phobetor stared at the colorful book spines, the thirteen issues leaning on the partially filled shelf. He had placed the last issue at the end of the row two days ago.

  “Phobetor, stop the video and rewind.”

  Tearing his eyes away from the bookcase, Phobetor scooted his chair up to the desk again, stopped the feed, and rewound.

  “Too far.” Thanatos hovered over his left shoulder now.

  It happened so fast they missed it the first time through. The cigarette settled between stone and sand.

  “Wait.”

  Phobetor turned his empty-socket eyes on his brother. “You want to take over?”

  “Let me see that once more, and then skip ahead an hour.” Thanatos straightened up, clasping his hands behind his back.

  The video rolled the same footage. Nothing, and then the cigarette laying on its side.

  Phobetor punched in a new time code and ran the video—the cigarette wasn’t there.

  Phobetor double-checked his typing, but it was right. “Abracadabra. And it’s gone.”

  “Play it backwards. Slowly. Let’s see if we can find the thief.”

  They watched the landscape in fast motion, scanning, until a black shape detached from the shadows of the cliff base and moved across the hard-packed dirt beside the path, then swooped in and snatched the cigarette into its fabric folds. The long cape billowed as the figure turned and hurried back to the shadows at the bottom of a cliff. Desert scrub brush and wild grasses grew thicker there, hiding any holes or paths used for escape.

  The black cape was simply there and gone. Just like the cigarette of the god of the Underworld.

  “Give Kevin From Security a little something for his keen eyes. He’s earned it.” Thanatos spun around, leaving his brother at his desk. He tucked his wings tight into his body, like custom-fitted armor. His gait was military sharp as he marched across the room to a large table sitting beneath the far end of the windows.

  Phobetor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The glasslike surface of his skull showed through his eye sockets and reflected off the computer monitor. “Kevin has a thing for dragons’ eggs. I’ll get him a lucky dozen.”

  Thanatos had already forgotten about Kevin From Security. He kicked the wheel locks on two of the table legs, released the brakes, and dragged the table away from the windows. Panel and splash pages, storyboards, and illustrations on random scraps of paper were scattered over the tabletop. This was his overview of every story element going into the issue before they went to digital layout.

  “Do you know of anyone who can overwrite our storyline, here, in our world?” It was hard to tell the difference between the black fur of Thanatos’s vest and the feathers on his wings. The gray skin of his chest was bare and visible within the V of his open vest. His shorn head gleamed under the lights of flickering monitors. Silver hung from his lobes and pierced his nose and cheeks. He was made of metal, hate, and revenge. He studied the drawings on the table, muscle and tendons pulled taut. “That was no rhetorical question, brother.” He stacked one page on top of the next.

  “No one can erase our work,” Phobetor said.

  “But someone could make a few editions here and there,” Thanatos replied. “Maybe even draw a way out of what we thought was the impenetrable prison of Deadman’s Island.”

  Phobetor perched his dark glasses on his nose once again, and said, “The muse.”

 
; Thanatos spun around on his heels and pointed at his brother. “Get that man a new car. A new woman. Anything new his little heart desires.” Crazy looked out from behind the god’s eyes. “Yes. Kay Te, muse of art. And sure as flames in the Underworld, Hades is in our land.” His bony tattooed hand slammed down on the table, making it jump.

  “How did the muse—”

  “A link between the worlds. Maybe she followed our trail? That’s the only way she could get him here. And the rest, the drawing? That’s well within her wheelhouse, don’t you think?” Thanatos shoved the neatly stacked pages to the corner of the table.

  Phobetor stood. His face shimmered and morphed into a human-panther hybrid, his nose flattened, his eyes large and emerald green. “I’ll tell the day security to activate the drones and send a team out to the north sector. We should have more eyes checking the camera feeds. If we are looking for the invisible man, we need to monitor for any anomalies. Cronus’s arse, how do we catch something we can’t see?” Whiskers waved and fangs clacked as he spoke.

  “We reel him in. Lead him here, to the tower. We expose him, then erase his sulphuric hide from our world. We set the ultimate trap, for Hades and for anyone helping him. And to do it, we write a new series with new horrors. And that, dear brother, is our wheelhouse.” A slow grin spread across his face.

  “We bind Hades into our next issue. Into paper and ink. We draw him into a paperback prison and never break open the spine.”

  Crazy still lingered behind Thanatos’s eyes, but there was something else, pleasure. Joy. “If Kay Te still has a link with the god of the Underworld, we will break it. And while her world starves and burns, and the gods lose more and more of their power, we’ll grow strong with the adoration of our fans. A new comic series with a new victim.”

  “If Kay Te is involved, that means the other gods are using her to find us. You know Persephone won’t stop looking for Hades. That is a lot of possible god wrath coming down on our collective asses.” Phobetor pulled a book from the case and studied the rotted zombie face on the cover.

  Thanatos smirked at the mention of Persephone’s name. “The muse can only react to what Hades can see. Kay Te has her hands tied to a single point of view. The element of surprise is a powerful thing, brother. And in this case, it will be the downfall of the god from down under.” Carefully, he teepeed his fingers on the table and leaned on them. “Flames. I’d welcome a visit from the queen of the Underworld. Can you imagine it? I would make her most welcome, here in my tower.”

  Phobetor studied his brother’s face. “You’re enjoying this.”

  Silence.

  Phobetor shook his head. “Hades is a dangerous god. You know his strengths—”

  “And his weaknesses. Persephone is his Achilles’ heel.”

  “Yes, but she isn’t here. And as far as we know, the muse is still helping him. And if he’s getting help from someone here, they could be true believers. His believers. That means a powerup for the god of the Underworld. You’re counting on him coming from a point of weakness. Don’t. Assume he is strong and in fight mode.” Phobetor slinked up to his brother. They were face-to-face and looked more alike than they ever had. Black-furred and sleek. “Expect that he is ready for a hunt. That is how we beat him.”

  Thanatos slapped a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I won’t underestimate Hades. And I will bring down the wrath of death to bring him to his knees.” Thanatos threw back his head in mock ecstasy. “Gods, I like the sound of that.”

  “You need some privacy with that thought?”

  A low chuckle rumbled from Thanatos’s throat. “I might.” The god of death stepped around his brother and pulled several sheets of paper from a flat drawer beneath the table. “Go. Inform security of our uninvited visitor.”

  “I already did.” Phobetor held up his phone.

  “Good. Make sure the extra patrol is sent out, then help me write our magnum opus.”

  The lock on the door clicked shut, but Thanatos didn’t hear it. Ink flowed from his pens. Sticks of charcoal shaded and shadowed image after image of torturous pits and poisonous beasts, their oversized fangs white as the textured paper. Blood dripped from oversized maws, a dark figure on the ground lay gutted but not dead. Never dead.

  The air in the room hummed with creative energy and the occasional raspy chuckle of one who was pleased with himself.

  Thanatos rubbed the back of his neck and straightened up to stretch his back. “Welcome to my world, Hades,” he growled, and leaned in to sketch the next panel.

  THREE

  The window was open to the Vancouver rain and the street noise below the 100-year-old Dominion Hotel. First responders and volunteers called out to each other as they rounded up wandering groups of deadless humans, leading them a few blocks away to an aid station. Flashing lights from police cars reflected against the building’s windows.

  Blood Alley puddled with backed-up water, the storm drains overtaxed and already full. Colorful patio lights from apartments across the way reflected in the growing pond. A small stream of West Coast rain made it into the alley’s manhole, pushing through garbage from overflowing dumpsters, abandoned plastic-covered cardboard lean-tos, and scraps from a nearby construction site.

  On the top floor, Kay Te, the muse, wiped condensation off the window, her eyes flitting between her sketchbook and the alley, capturing the details of the manhole cover the demigod named Bob held over his head. She snapped her purple gum while she worked. “Got it!” she finally yelled out the window.

  Persephone paced the hotel room floor on the other side of the king-sized bed, phone pressed to her ear. The green camo jumpsuit she wore, the silver, and earthy beads around her wrist and neck were all goddess of spring, but her look—her stormy eyes, black hair, and the black whip tied around her waist—showed her truer nature as queen of the Underworld. She stopped to smack Rad’s boots off the bedspread and mouthed, Really?

  The djinn plumped up all four pillows and sprawled out across the white duvet, this time with his feet dangling off the side of the bed. He chewed a bamboo toothpick he’d pulled out of the club sandwich he’d polished off minutes before. “You should have told me we were having a sleepover. I’d have brought my pajamas.”

  Kay Te sketched another sequence of sewage tunnels running from an open manhole, her pages shaded with charcoal and pencil. “You realize no one is listening to you?”

  Rad flicked through the TV channels, finally settling on the sports network. “Obviously you’re listening. I usually like a bigger crowd but…you’ll do.” He tossed the remote on the bed beside his folded suit jacket and put his hands behind his head. “Who’s she talking to?”

  Kay Te glanced up and scratched her nose, swiping a dark smudge of charcoal across her cheek. “Mr. Thunderbolt. You can tell by her silence.”

  “They say it’s hard to talk to the kids these days…but dads are worse.” Rad crossed his ankles.

  Persephone stopped in front of the TV. She finally got a word in by yelling, “I’m telling you, he’s alive. Until we know different, we keep to Hades’s plan. Keep the food shipments coming in. There’s no shortage of sick, starving people out there.” The queen of the Underworld flashed her sharpened teeth, her voice a cold wind over gravestones. “Look out of your ivory tower, Dad. This is all our problem. Your pride burned down Olympus. Don’t let it burn this world—it’s all you’ve got. There’s no room for you in mine.” She jabbed the screen of her phone several times with a silver-painted nail and shoved it in her back pocket.

  Rad pulled his toothpick from his mouth and rolled onto his elbow to study the goddess, the neon tats under his skin flared purple with flameless fire.

  Kay Te sat frozen, her blue-shadowed eyes wide, staring at Persephone.

  Persephone exchanged looks with them. “I like technology as much as the next person, but there’s no satisfaction in hanging up on someone anymore. Flames! I miss the feeling of slamming th
e handset of a rotary phone down on its cradle. The bang! It was a statement, you know? An audible middle finger.”

  Whump. Whump. The handle on the room door jiggled.

  “My card still isn’t working!” Bob shouted from the outside hallway.

  Persephone crossed the small sitting area and checked the peephole before opening the door.

  Bob, rain-soaked and dripping on the carpet, walked in. He didn’t say a word. He went to the bathroom and shut the door, leaving behind a series of wet footprints.

  “This day just keeps getting better,” said Rad, plunked back down on the pillows, the bamboo toothpick bouncing between his lips as he chewed. “I’ve gotta be at work in a couple of hours. Can we get on with this?”

  “You’re assuming it’s night in that world.” Kay Te turned back to her drawings. “If it isn’t, we’ll have to wait for the bounty hunter to sleep and to dream.”

  Persephone strode to the side of the bed. “Flames! All we do is wait.” She looked down at Rad.

  Rad crossed his arms. “Don’t blame me for that. I could’ve found Hades weeks ago if the djinn had access to the dreams of the gods.” His toothpick hung from the side of his mouth as he talked. “Sorting through dream threads from multiple worlds takes time. But now that I caught Hades’s scent on this bounty hunter, I can get a location on him and then we can go our separate ways.” He picked at a thread on his shirt cuff.

  Kay Te exchanged her charcoal for a pencil. “It don’t matter how we find Mr. Inferno, only that we do.”

  “Just find the link between the bounty hunter and my husband.” Persephone scowled.

  “I’m very clear on my job,” said Rad tersely. “But digging around in a being’s mind, sifting through their thoughts and memories, takes a delicate touch. And it takes time. If the bounty hunter wakes before I find anything on Hades, there’s nothing I can do but try again tomorrow.” He took the toothpick from his mouth. “I want to be done with this as much as you do.”