Marked by the Demigod

by Alessa Winters

  Aimes shakily taps out the text, feeling like she hasn't eaten anything in months.

  AIMES (7:01 PM): Your brothers found me, threatened me, then left. With Katya now.

  "Don't say where you're going," Katya snaps, her hands white against the steering wheel. "He'll be able to tell anyways."

  Aimes nods, leaning her head against the seat back. "Why threaten me if they could kill me and be done with it?" She asks, slow.

  Katya's hands tighten further, then relax, consciously. "They'd much rather manipulate Iakov, I think. I haven't...I haven't seen the prophecy thing they're...or whatever he says, I don't know." Her voice quavers again, it's the not knowing that is hurting her the most. "I don't know, and Dave's dead and I've known him since I started working here, and if they're responsible for all this I just..." She shakes her head, as if swallowing away the uncertainty.

  They drive in silence for a few minutes, turning onto the freeway to Sherman Oaks.

  "I ...they've killed so many of my friends. Whoever is doing all this killing, and if it's them...if it's them we can't fight that." Katya says, speeding around the 210 traffic. "I wouldn't know how to fight them."

  Aimes scrapes around her brain for something to say, but comes up empty, as if the panic she felt took all her thoughts and dumped them on the floor.

  The message clicks over to read, but he doesn't write anything back.

  The office is empty, cold, and the cot is just as hard as you would expect an office cot to be. "Why do you even have a cot in here?" She asks, her mouth feeling as if it is full of cotton.

  "Sometimes people need a place to stay that can't be tracked. There are too many wards here." Katya rattles around her desk, strapping a knife to her hip and an extra pistol under her arm. "I'll go to your place, see if there's any tracking devices there, check your wards," she says, voice rough. "No one can teleport into here, so if Iakov tries tell him to use the goddamn front door." She sheds her suit jacket and straps another knife to her spine. "The next person who will walk through that door will be my secretary, and I've let her know you're here."

  Aimes sits on the cot, wincing. "How long should I stay here?"

  Katya hesitates. "The night should be enough."

  She smooths the sheets with her hand, something sitting strange in her stomach. "What can I do?"

  Katya hesitates, as if that is the strangest question she has been asked. "Stay here?"

  "No, I want to do something, something to help. Something...something besides sitting around."

  As if she is a teacher explaining something to a small child, Katya puts her jacket back on. "Your life is in danger, you need to remain safe," she says. "Anything else you could do, that's all secondary." And she whirls out of the room, clicking the office door lock behind her.

  And it's immediately silent, and Aimes thumbs open her phone. Still no response from Iakov.

  AIMES (7:38 PM): Emergency helping friend Katya through a breakup, crashing at her place. Can you feed cats at like 10 PM?

  TRIXIE (7:38 PM): Sure.

  Then --

  TRIXIE (7:39 PM): We need to kill anyone?

  And a laugh bubbles up in her throat, because Trixie doesn't know but that is too accurate.

  AIMES (7:41 PM) Maybe.

  The next morning, the door clicks open and Aimes immediately jerks awake. But it's just Katya's too-pretty receptionist, giving her a wide side eye look.

  Aimes sits up, rubbing her head. "Hi Miri," she croaks out, and her voice feels like it's been run through a cheese grater.

  Miri quirks an eyebrow at her. "Katya told me you'd be here, but she didn't say why." Miri hands her a Starbucks cup, and it's somehow Aimes's favorite drink. "Gossip for some gossip?"

  Aimes gratefully takes the cup, and it's way better than she would've thought. "She says it’s to protect me."

  Miri rolls her eyes and sits at her ancient computer, booting it up. "She says that about everyone, that's practically nothing to her." As her computer beeps into existence, she regards Aimes with something that's close to a predatory glare. "She had two funerals yesterday. Then, instead of going home and resting like she very well should be, she said she had to do ward work and have you crash here."

  Aimes slurps at her coffee out of a lack of anything else to do. "Two funerals?"

  Miri nods, face saddening before clearing like a flash. "She's been doing about five a week," she says, her voice final. "That's how fast they're getting us."

  With a rush, Aimes is sharply reminded that Miri isn't in fact a normal girl, and that she herself fits firmly in the category of not-normal. That she probably knew almost everyone killed, and that she herself probably considers herself in some sort of danger. "Are you...are you safe?" She blurts out.

  Miri cocks an immaculately groomed eyebrow at her. "No one knows," she says, clicking on her computer for start up. "It's not like there's a pattern for Katya to track." Her voice is as frosty as Aimes has ever heard from her. "So why is she checking the wards at your place?"

  Aimes blinks at the sudden change of subject. "I got threatened by Demi gods at Dave's funeral," she says, quick.

  The other eyebrow goes up. "Well aren't you special," she says, but her voice has gentled back into the flirtatious tone she always has. "Most Demi's don't deal with regular people, much less," she waves vaguely at Aimes, "regular regular people."

  "Thanks," Aimes says, dryly.

  She shrugs, her computer finally dinging to life. "I think they're involved," she says after a few seconds, already deep into her scheduling files. "It has to be either someone with the organization, or someone related to an actual god, to be killing off with such..." she trails off, as if frustrated at her own lack of vocabulary.

  It's quiet, just the fluorescent lights and the taps of computer keys.

  "I'm sorry," Aimes says quietly. "That's...awful."

  Miri flashes her a bright smile, sudden in it's appearance. "I carry a gun everywhere," she says, as if that makes everything better. "A gun and some bronze bullets, in case they try me."

  Aimes doesn't really have an answer for that, so she grabs Katya's phone charger off her desk and chills in the reception area chairs.

  "Katya won't tell me who married you," Miri says, obscured from her computer screen. "Me and some other assistants have a pool. I think it's a vampire."

  Aimes glances from her phone, where there is still a suspicious lack of text from Iakov. "Vampires are actually real?"

  Miri types away, not even looking up. "Of course they're real, why wouldn't they be?" She smiles, but at the computer screen. "So not a vampire."

  "Not a vampire," Aimes leans back. "I'd tell you, but Katya literally won't let me tell anyone, and he's..." She trails off as Miri snaps up to look at her. "He's secretive."

  Miri cracks her winning smile. "See, he has Katya scared, and she's only scared by the vampire nests, which is why I thought." Miri crosses her hands and leans forward, completely abandoning the computer. "Was he tall?"

  Aimes really doesn't want to go through the entire guessing game with someone who shouldn't be privy with the knowledge. "Not out of the ordinary," which is technically correct but misleading. "He gave me a fake name, he doesn't want people to know,"

  Miri tosses her curls over her head, which seems natural and practiced all at the same time. "So just Katya gets to know?"

  "And the only reason Katya does is cause she literally walked in on him injured at my apartment."

  Miri's eyes flash to her neck, as if searching for some sort of scar, the smile fading. "Someone tried to kill him? And it...rebounded?"

  "Sure. That's accurate."

  Miri shrugs, and finally turns back to her computer. "Smart on him, then," she says, voice far. "Must've known that whoever it was would come after him." She resumes working, falling silent.

  The door slams open, and Katya strides in, only raising an eyebrow at the Starbucks cup in Aimes's hand. "Really, Miri?"

  Miri shrugs and slurps on
her own cup, not saying anything.

  Aimes follows her into the office, and Katya shuts the door behind her with a definite click.

  "Your wards are safe, Iakov redid them in the middle of the night when I was there. And I had to hide when your friend came in to feed the cats," Katya says right off the bat.

  "Iakov came there?" Aimes blurts out.

  Katya raises an eyebrow at her, her lips thinning. "Yes," she says, sitting down at her desk like it’s a life saver. "He came over and I nearly shot him because I was asleep."

  Aimes looks at her phone, where there is still no text. "He didn't --"

  "He's angry, he's scared, and he made it safe for you to go home," she says, opening her computer with an exhausted look in her eyes, and Aimes almost, almost offers her the coffee. "He warded all your jewelry, wear some."

  Aimes stands, her back cracking uncomfortably. "I'm going home," she grabs her purse, her heart pounding.

  Nodding, Katya looks at her, dark. "I brought your car here, go ahead and drive it, it's safe."

  Her keys are still in her purse. "Did you hotwire it?"

  Katya nods as if it's no big deal. "Toyotas are easy."

  She turns the key in the lock, and there's some sort of residual something on the door, a bit like static electricity and a bit like that moment in a storm where the wind turns, so she grabs her keys in her fist like it will actually be able to harm anyone who might be on the other side of the door, and pushes her way in with a steeling breath.

  But instead of anyone else, Iakov just lays, curled up on the ratty couch, fast asleep with a scowl on his face like you wouldn't believe.

  She exhales, slowly letting the air out, as if breathing will remove all the drama of the last day.

  The smart cat blinks up at her from where he's curled up on Iakov's chest and it's such a calm small moment that her heart aches. If it wasn't for the couch being so small and ratty she would curl up right next to him and try to forget all the bullshit.

  But she's still in her funeral clothes, her face feels like it's crunchy from all the crying and the sniffling and the harsh office air. She sneaks to the kitchen and starts her coffee maker, then scrubs her face clean and strips off the funeral dress and into her work jeans while waiting for the coffee to percolate.

  After a moment of hesitation, she grabs the beaded necklace Iakov gave her, clasping it behind her neck. The odd feeling of static electricity sits at the base of her collarbone. It must be the wards, as much as she's never actually felt or seen them, but it's the closest thing she has to compare it to.

  By the time she sweeps out of her bedroom, the coffee is done and Iakov is mixing sugar into a cup, a profoundly blank look on his face.

  He startles, when she walks into view, as if he didn't consider where the coffee must've come from. He blinks at her, as if not comprehending her for way too long, before he sighs. "Hullo," he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He deliberately sets the cup of coffee on the counter with a clink and crosses to her, wrapping her in a giant hug.

  She freezes for a moment, then relaxes into him, bit by bit, as if her body wins against her mind.

  He leans his head into her hair, heavy. "I didn't kill him," he mumbles again, his words almost unintelligible through his accent. "I'm. Sorry."

  She stays there for a split second, cause she honestly doesn't know if he's ever said those words. His arms around her tighten, before he steps back and scrutinizes her, looking far more awake than he was even seconds before.

  His eyes narrow, and he rests a hand on the back of her neck, right where one of his brothers gripped. "Here?" He asks, and she has to listen so carefully through the thick accent.

  She nods, her skin crawling from the similarity. "I couldn't move my feet, or else I would've run."

  He watches her small actions through the kitchen, and she feels self conscious of her chipped cups and tiny apartment, though he's seen it many times. "They were trying to intimidate you," he declares.

  "No shit." She dumps way more sugar in her cup than necessary. "I picked up on that." And she stares at him, deliberately drinking from her coffee, all of a sudden prickly. He could've been there, he could've stopped them, he could've not run away when Katya was on the phone, and he could've seen her last night, and he could've stayed in one place for longer than 12 hours.

  He raises an eyebrow at her, and it does nothing to quell the spiky ball of anger in her chest. "They didn't...hurt you, though." And he says it more like a statement than a question, but the question is there and it sits poorly with her.

  She doesn't break eye contact with him, because if she's angry at someone the last thing she wants to do is give them a moment to gain anything. "They threatened to kill me to get you, and it was fucking uncomfortable without being able to move my feet."

  Iakov takes a sip of coffee and looks away, and that feels like a small victory. "They didn't stop you from moving your feet, they immobilized your shoes to the ground," he mumbles, as if that’s somehow better.

  She crosses her arms, and both his eyebrows rise.

  "They shouldn't be able to find you now," he blurts out. "I've hidden the apartment, they can't track you here, and --"

  "And they said they already know where I live."

  "And even if they did, they can't get to you in here," he says, louder, over her. "They'd have to burn down the fucking building with you in it and even then you'd be safe." And he scowls at her, as if she’s the one responsible for all of this.

  She scowls back.

  His eyes briefly flicker down to her necklace, then back up to her face. "Wear some of your jewelry every day, it'll prevent tracking."

  "So Katya said." She snaps.

  His face briefly, ever so briefly, so brief she's not sure that she didn't imagine it, flounders, as if he's overwhelmed by all her conversations. "You can't be shot now," he blurts. "The ward is bulletproof and--"

  "You can make someone bulletproof?" She says, incredulous.

  He grabs onto that topic like it's a lifesaver. "It's not easy, and I'll be sapped each time you got shot, but..." he shrugs, his face sliding back into confidence. As if this is a safe topic, one he can grasp and control, and she hates him for it, just a little bit. "It's not easy?"

  Aimes takes a moment at that, to force the air through her nose and to not react from the incredible wave of irritation surging through her. "Do your brothers have that ward?"

  He blinks at her, as if he’s the one having issues with the conversation. "I mean, in theory." He picks up his own coffee again, hesitant, as if he thinks it's going to bite him. "I doubt they keep it up all the time, it's annoying."

  She nods, out of a lack of anything else to do. "So, this prophecy thing. It needs both of them?"

  He stares at her.

  "So we shoot one." She shrugs again. "Prophecy can't come true without both, right?"

  He stares at her again, and it's profoundly uncomfortable but she's not about to give him any leeway. "Are you aware," he starts, then stops, still blinking rapidly. "Are you aware how...hard it is to kill a Demigod?" His voice pitches up, as if he's so incredulous that she could ask such a thing, and she's sick of it.

  She's sick of the misinformation, the lack of people giving her straight answers. "Not really, but they think they can pull it off on you, so why not do it to...one of them." She's sort of aware that she's talking about his brothers, but the entire situation is too much.

  He shuts his eyes, as if counting backwards from ten. "Please don't do anything stupid," he says, slow, as if that will make her pay attention more. "Just...live your life and please don't do anything stupid."

  She has to look away at that, so instead she sips her coffee, her heart pounding. "It's not like living my life kept me that safe."

  He flounders, as if he desperately wants to run away, and she won't put it past him, not how he usually does by this point. "Are you...are you hungry?" He asks, his voice stretched thin. At her incredulous look, he continues
. "I know of a great place, it's good food, won't take very long."

  She peers at him; this might be the most uncomfortable she's ever seen him. "Are you trying to bribe me into being nice with food?"

  His chin drops, and it would be comical if every vein in her body wasn't throbbing with rage. "Yes?"

  She squints at him, and he looks away, the profile of his face sallow in the fluorescent lighting of her tiny kitchen. But there are bags under his eyes and small wrinkles on his forehead that she's not sure were there before. "Really."

  He nods, finally looking back at her, and the eye contact sends a thrill down her spine that she wishes she could ignore. "I don't...I don't know what to do," he says, after a long moment, then tentatively, so tentatively, he reaches out.

  Aimes braces herself to suddenly be elsewhere, but they're still in her tiny kitchen in her tiny apartment, just him, holding her hand.

  Her mind races as the moment stretches on, and deep inside she doesn't want to be the first person to break the moment. It's like a snapshot, something burnt into the back of her head, that she needs to keep it close, with the harsh overhead lighting and his hair a few days away from a shower, his suit wrinkled, but he's holding her hand.

  After all the sex they've had, this feels like the closest moment to actual intimacy.

  She ducks her head down. "Where would you be taking me?"

  His face clears, like she’s tossed him a life jacket in a stormy sea. "French Riviera." He says, voice faux confident, but the scratch of the morning is there. "Best breakfast in the world."

  "Isn't it like...2 PM there?"

  He shrugs, lips quirking up into a smile. "They'll still serve me breakfast, if I ask." And his hand tightens.

  With the moment warning, she shuts her eyes, and only opens them when a warm breeze hits her face, the scent of lavender filling her nose.

  In front of her is a green, rolling hill, the tips of every plant coated in silver purple, and she breathes out, slow. "I'm still... angry," she says as she looks around in the warm afternoon sunshine. "I just..."