Chapter 14

THE SOOTY GOD

When the door closed behind her, Selene immediately felt sweat popping on her brow. Normally, she was as impervious to heat as to cold, but this was worse than a hundred degrees in August trapped in an un-air-conditioned subway car. This was volcanic. The heat issued forth from the dozens of machines pounding away in the depth of the empty swimming pool. Most were steam-driven, great turbines and pistons flailing like the limbs of epileptic spiders, jetting steam toward the ceiling high above. But along the perimeter of the room, large banks of computers and electronics covered the lower half of the walls. Heavy-duty acoustical paneling covered the upper half.

She pointed to the crisscross of blue laser beams shooting out from the computers. They reminded her of something from one of the science fiction movies Theo was always making her watch. “Is that what keeps the illusion going?” She had to shout to be heard over the heavy metal cacophony.

Flint nodded. “Works well, except when an uninvited guest shoots out one of my panes of special holographic glass.” With a gait only slightly stilted by the braces on his legs, he grabbed a massive sheet of steel in one hand, a welding machine in the other, and walked to a large metal plate sitting atop a contraption of gears and accordioned struts. He rolled the welder onto it, yanked a series of levers, spun a few wheels, and was soon zooming upward on an elevated platform. When it reached its apex, the Smith hovered a mere four feet below the ceiling. Six segmented steel legs emerged from the mechanism’s base. It started crawling across the ground with the steady tread of a praying mantis. As if in appreciation of Flint’s invention, a guitar screamed its way through a frenetic riff; Selene finally began to appreciate Paul’s brand of folk rock.

Flint arrived at the broken pane in the wall, donned a welding helmet, and flipped on his machine. It hissed like a steady wind, and a lightning-bright spark appeared between his torch and the sheet metal he placed over the gap.

Selene shut her eyes to the glare and shouted up, “Won’t that look suspicious from the outside?”

“Better than having light gush out,” he called down to her as he worked, his voice muffled from the helmet. “Google Earth could pick it up. Then I’d have more annoyances pounding down my door.”

Annoyances? It took all her self-control not to burst out with: If you want annoying, I’ll start by ripping out your sound system and shoving it down your hairy throat. But she was here to enlist the Smith’s help, not antagonize him. She took a steadying breath and shouted up, “Speaking of pounding on the door, I tried that. You didn’t answer. You might consider turning down the music so you can hear a little better.”

He didn’t take the hint. He finished his welding job, took off his helmet, and lowered the lift back to the floor as the song reached its screeching climax and then came to an abrupt halt. “You have to ring the bell,” he said into the sudden silence.

“What bell?”

He gave her a black look. “Didn’t Dash tell you to follow the signs?”

“I followed the heat. Is that what you mean?” she asked testily. Between the stifling temperature, the pounding of machinery, and the opening riffs of the next metal anthem, Selene’s stomach had twisted itself inside out.

“Not the heat. The signs. The one that says, ‘Handicapped Entrance.’ If you follow the arrow—”

“I tried that.”

“You see an alarm handle that says, ‘Pull in Case of Fire.’ That’s the doorbell.”

Of course. Hephaestus the Lame One, God of Fire and Forge. She felt like a moron, and from Flint’s expression, he wholeheartedly agreed.

Theo would’ve probably figured out the reference, she realized, but my method worked, too. It was just slightly more destructive. At the moment, she was actually glad she’d resorted to wrecking the Smith’s little hideaway—he deserved it for his condescension.

“I can’t hear myself think in here,” she said through gritted teeth. “Turn off that music—if that’s what you call it. And while you’re at it, shut down all these infernal machines.”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Then I guess I should just leave without telling you my incredibly vital news.”

“News you couldn’t just leave on my phone, like I’ve told everyone to do repeatedly?” he asked, drawing an oversized device out of his pocket. Rather than the usual static screen of colored icons, the Smith’s phone was in constant motion. He saw her looking and held it up for her. “I still prefer to make things with my own hands, but if I didn’t use other people’s inventions too, I’d be a fool.”

“Or a purist,” she replied archly. “I don’t bother with the Digital Age if I can help it.” And it makes me feel all of my three thousand years when I can’t figure out how to even open the damn “apps,” or whatever they’re called.

Flint raised a grizzled eyebrow. “You must find life in the twenty-first century tough without a little help from gadgets like this. We may not be omniscient anymore, but the Internet’s almost as good.” He swiped his finger across the screen, bringing up a graph covered in scores of jiggling colored lines. “It’s monitoring all my systems here in real time, not to mention tapping into the volcanic seismographs around the world. It’s like I’ve got eyes everywhere.”

“Sounds amazing,” she said dryly. “But I prefer the eyes in my own head. They’re better at telling me when someone is trying to kill me.”

He shot her a sharp look. “Why would someone—”

“Hades is dead. Dragged out of his own lair and left in a ritual sacrifice in the middle of the Financial District.”

The Smith stared at her for a long moment, expressionless. Then he disappeared into the warren of machinery. The song cut off abruptly in the middle of a head-splitting drum solo. The pounding steam engines slowed their rhythm, then ground to a hissing halt. He returned, his face even darker with soot than before.

“You sure?”

“I saw the body myself. Then, the next day, they came for me.”

The sudden intensity of his stare raised her hackles, and she took an involuntary step backward. She tried to read his emotions in the tightening of his lips but couldn’t decide if he was angry, afraid, or merely annoyed at being dragged into the situation.

He turned to the rabbit on the workbench, chose a small saw off one rack and a metal basin from another, and began to gut her host gift with a speed and skill that rivaled her own. A minute later, he’d speared the carcass with an aluminum rod and placed it into a nearby low-burning furnace to cook. He slammed the door shut and turned back to her. Is he actually hungry, she wondered, or is he just taking out his frustration on my rabbit?

“At first, my attacker just wanted my gold arrows—the ones you brought to me this fall,” she offered when it became clear Flint had no intention of speaking. “Stole the whole quiver and then flew off in Dash’s winged cap before I could snatch it back. He was mortal, but he could use a divine item—an item Dash himself said stopped working long ago. How is that possible?”

Flint’s thick beard shifted with the clenching of his massive jaw. “I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you the expert? Didn’t you make the cap in the first place?”

“That was millennia ago. I haven’t invented a new divine weapon since the Diaspora.”

“Because you can’t? Is that one of the powers that’s been lost to you?”

“Because I can’t. Because I choose not to. Is there a difference?” The Smith reached into his pocket and handed her the bootlace she’d used to secure her note to the arrow shaft. Then, as if that marked the end of their meeting, he turned his back on her and opened a drawer in his workbench. He grabbed a fistful of metal wire seemingly at random and started angrily bending each thread with a small pair of pliers. He didn’t even look at his hands as he worked, much less at Selene. He just stared at the wall, as if his brain whirred so fast that it shot off into space like a propeller blade loosed from its hub.

I’ve got little patience for my own bitter musings, Selene thought, resisting the urge to shake him. I’ve got even less for those of my stepbrother, or my cousin, or whatever I’m supposed to call my father’s sister-wife’s parthenogenically birthed son.

The Smith fit a series of small aluminum plates onto his wire mesh, creating a nearly spherical container. She had no idea what it was for, but it clearly wasn’t going to help her figure out more about her mysterious attacker, and it certainly wasn’t any kind of useful divine weapon.

She stepped close to the workbench so he couldn’t ignore her. “I could use some more arrows if I’m going to hunt down my attacker and his friends.”

The Smith grunted disdainfully. “I don’t sit around all day making gold arrows just in case you run out, you know.” Yet he put down the wire contraption and stomped off into the bowels of his forge, returning moments later with three gleaming shafts. “These are all I’ve got.” He thrust them toward her.

Selene nodded her thanks. Flint went back to his wires, ignoring her. At least the trip wasn’t a complete waste, she thought, tucking the arrows into her belt and preparing to leave. Theo would be waiting, probably still angry at her for dismissing him earlier. He’s right—my conversational skills leave a lot to be desired. Predictably, she’d managed to alienate both him and the Smith in a single hour.

“Any other ideas about that cap?” she asked her stepbrother, giving diplomacy one more shot.

Surprisingly, he actually answered. “Think of Perseus using Athena’s shield. If a god chooses to loan a mortal his divine attributes, then the mortal can use them.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Or it could be a man elevated to immortality. Maybe.”

“Well, Dash says he didn’t even know the cap still existed—he certainly didn’t gift it to a thanatos. And it can’t be a mortal newly elevated, because after the Trojan War, Zeus declared the Age of Heroes over, remember? No more handing out immortality right and left.”

“You think the old rules still apply?” He snorted. “Don’t you know that the one constant in this world is inconsistency?”

“Great. Now I know even less than before. Maybe Theo’s first instinct was right, and there’s no god associated with this at all.”

“Theo.” Flint’s hands froze. “Your friend.”

“He’s waiting in the car.” One look at the Smith’s white-knuckled grip on his wire sphere and Selene was suddenly sure she’d made the right decision in sending Theo away. “He’s assisting. And trust me, we need all the help we can get. We’re being targeted, and if I’m right and Hades’ murderer is a fellow Athanatos, then we need to be extremely cautious. We’ve got some evidence that points to someone with a penchant for the Roman Era.”

She started describing the crime scene and the attack in the park. The more she told him, the faster his hands worked. By the time she described the flying man calling his leader “Pater,” the Smith had finished his basketball-sized sphere. He grabbed a pencil-width rod of aluminum from a cubby and bent it into the shape of a small arrow. Before she could finish her story, Flint stuck the metal rod onto the top of his orb and held it up for her. The entire structure now formed a circle with an arrow on top. She stared uncomprehending for a moment before its import finally sank in: the universal sign for “male.” More important, the astronomical symbol for the planet named for the bloodthirstiest and most untrustworthy god in the entire pantheon: Mars.

“Oh.” She felt a sudden tingling of dread as the clues coalesced. Mars, the God of War, was arrogant enough to conduct a sacrifice outdoors in the middle of Wall Street; he’d slain the dog with all the sadistic brutality he was best known for; and one of his attributes was a poisonous serpent. The god she’d known first as Ares—before he’d adopted his Latin name amid the slavish devotion of the Roman legions—had no loyalty, no honor. Hephaestus was his brother, yet he’d stolen Aphrodite from him without a shred of compunction.

Selene could still remember the look of agonized betrayal on the Smith’s face as he watched his wife and her lover struggling to escape the golden net he’d fashioned to trap them in their illicit union. Aphrodite had buried her face in her hands, humiliation flushing her naked skin a brilliant red. But Ares roared his defiance. The sculpted muscles of his body strained in vain against threads of gold as thin as spider’s silk and stronger than iron. His parents, mighty Zeus and terrible Hera, stared down at him with disgust. But Ares merely cursed his brother, his father, even his mother, for not giving him what he wanted. How dare they let the most beautiful goddess in the universe marry a cripple, when he, boldest and bravest of the gods, deserved her more? “I’ll kill you all if I get the chance,” he’d cried, reaching through the net for his spear. With an angry gesture from Hephaestus, the threads of gold tightened around Ares’ bulging forearm, threatening to slice it from his body. Ares screamed, his voice like the blaring of war horns. “I’m the Man-Slayer, but I could be the God-Slayer if I wished!” Madness filled his rolling eyes, and even Aphrodite looked away in fear.

While the other Olympians cowered, Artemis, the Virgin Huntress, had laughed. “I’d put a golden arrow through your heart the moment you tried.”

She no longer felt so confident. Mars, she suspected, maintained much of his divine strength. War was the one constant in mankind’s existence—and the conflicts of the modern age had grown only larger and bloodier. He would grow stronger right alongside.

“Are you sure it’s him?” she asked Flint, desperately hoping he was wrong.

Without warning, the Smith hurled the ball across the room with a grunt; it bounced off a bank of computers and rolled back toward him. Then he grabbed a large pipe wrench off the workbench and raised it over his head. Selene covered her head with her hands as he slammed the tool into the ground, opening a great hole in the floor. She dared not raise a hand to stop him—he might have faded, but his legendary strength still matched her own. She backed up, looking toward the exit.

Then, as suddenly as it began, Flint’s wrath subsided. He fell awkwardly against the side of his workbench and dropped the wrench. His cheeks burned above the thicket of his beard.

“Mars isn’t here, you know,” she said. “Who the hell are you so angry at?”

His voice was a low rumble of anger. “Myself.”

“You told your brother about the power of sacrificing a god?”

He glared at her. “Of course not. My wife did.” He spat out the word as if it were too bitter to swallow.

“And who told her?” Selene demanded. Aphrodite, the Goddess of Erotic Love, ranked high on her very short list of reasons to be thankful for the Diaspora. The thought of her throaty chuckle and creamy skin made Selene nauseous all over again.

Flint pulled a metal crate down from a shelf and started filling it with various tools and electronics—most of which she couldn’t begin to identify. Some looked purely utilitarian; others were covered in intricate Bronze Age engraving, shaped into graceful art deco curves, or crafted from delicate Victorian clockwork. “I didn’t tell her. But she’s …” He tossed dozens of neat coils of wire and tubing into his crate.

“She’s what? Irresistible? Is that what you were going to say?”

“She gets what she wants,” he said shortly.

Selene wanted to scream at him about the frailties of men. To punish him for betraying her trust. But something about the ferocity of his scowl made her think he was already punishing himself enough. She picked up her bow and slung it over her shoulder, turning to go.

“I’m not done packing,” Flint rumbled, loading his overflowing crate into a larger trunk.

“Don’t bother,” she said shortly.

“The Man-Slayer is Hera’s son,” the Smith went on, pulling down a second crate. “He inherited all her worst qualities: jealousy, fury, arrogance, capriciousness. To confront him, you’ll need me.”

Selene bristled. Yet another man in my life telling me that I need him, she thought. Great. But could she face the Man-Slayer alone? It would be foolish not to accept any help the Smith was willing to give. So she said nothing, merely watched him add a series of smaller boxes to his crate. Then, with what seemed an unnecessary amount of force, he unfastened his space-age titanium leg braces, lashed them to the trunk, and picked up a pair of simple aluminum crutches.

He’s the “Lame One,” she remembered. Just as I cling to virginity, he must remain crippled to hang on to some semblance of his divinity. But at least I got to pick my own attributes—he had no choice at all. Yet now, she realized, they were both hobbled by the very traits that defined them.

The Smith walked haltingly across the room to retrieve the wire orb he’d made. With a single calm gesture, he bent the “male” arrow straight, then folded it into a carrying handle. Now, instead of a Mars symbol, it was just a basket. “I don’t know where my brother is now, and neither will Dash,” he said, his voice dark. “But I know who does.”

He tossed a last roll of copper tubing into his trunk more violently than was strictly necessary. He’s going to call Aphrodite, Selene thought with a barely stifled groan. Hard enough dealing with the gods in her life. The goddesses were even more complex. “Do what you have to,” she said with a sigh.

Flint looked up, surprised. “I always do.”

He opened the furnace door and pulled out the rabbit, its skin perfectly crisped. Selene nearly drooled at the odor of sizzling fat. Flint placed the rabbit in the spherical wire basket and handed it to her.

“For the road,” he said.

Then, for the first time since she’d entered his domain, the hint of a smile cracked his grizzled beard. And Selene, to her surprise, found herself smiling back.

Introduction to Classical Mythology. Final Exam Question 1: Choose two of the four works we’ve studied this semester: The Iliad, Theogony, Oedipus Rex, or Ovid’s Metamorphoses. How does the work define “humanness”? How does it define “divinity”? Make sure to address systems of obligation, homage, and protection, while also considering issues of gender and—

Theo’s laptop battery finally died, thrusting him into darkness. He glanced at the gas gauge on the car. He couldn’t keep running the engine indefinitely, but he was pretty sure his own impatient anger wouldn’t be enough to keep the car warm without the heat on.

He realized he’d written an impossible assignment anyway. “Every student who gets handed this test is going to burst into tears,” he said aloud. “How would I even answer it? How about: A human is the one with the obligation to wait in the car, while the divinity offers protection by doing all the cool things without him. And as for issues of gender …”

The roar of an engine interrupted him. A single blinding headlamp barreled toward the car, then came to a squealing halt in the adjacent parking space. A souped-up Harley dragging a large cargo trailer, Hephaestus the Smith at the handlebars. Theo’s excitement at the chance to interact with another Olympian was immediately tempered by the sight of Artemis the Huntress sitting behind her stepbrother, clasping his broad, leather-clad chest. In her own leather jacket, she fit right into the tableau—a biker’s girlfriend, enjoying the roar of power between her thighs. The Smith lent her an unnecessary hand to dismount. Even in the dark, Theo could see the way his touch lingered on hers. He shook the image from his head, put aside his useless laptop, and tried to look as manly as possible despite his visible shivering.

New answer, he decided. Being human means knowing you’ll never be as strong, as cool, or as competent as a god. Being divine means loving the human anyway. I hope.