A cacophony. A discordant clamor to shatter the ears.
At least that’s how it must have sounded to the others in the mithraeum below the Vatican.
But shortly before the hidden temple descended into bloody carnage, the long months of tailing Theo Schultz had finally paid off: The Tetractys had reunited with the Father he’d lost months before. And despite everything that had happened since, despite the killings and the terror and his own frenzied escape, he finally heard the melody line above the chaos. Sharp and clear, ringing through his mind like a trumpet call the moment he’d looked upon the Father’s face.
A face more ravaged than he remembered, battle-scarred and aged, but imbued with great power nonetheless. Nothing will stop us, the Tetractys had thought, his heart leaping at the sight.
“No matter what happens to me,” the Father had assured him long before. “No matter how weak I appear, have faith in our plan.”
But the Tetractys no longer felt quite so confident. After overhearing the professor’s conversation in the Pantheon, he’d decided he could finally stop his chase—Schultz was on the right path. The end was in sight. But now it almost seemed that the professor was following him. At the airport, he’d spotted Schultz boarding a plane to Turkey with Selene Neomenia.
The Tetractys had ducked behind a kiosk selling miniature plastic Coliseums just before they noticed him. He’d crouched there, frozen with indecision.
I could easily get them stopped by the Italian authorities, he reasoned. A gun planted in their carry-on luggage would do the trick. Then again, he couldn’t risk the professor getting stuck for too long in Italy. In two days, Schultz needed to be in his appointed place. The entire plan depended on it.
So the Tetractys had let him go. He’d boarded his own flight, trusting Schultz’s word that he’d be present at the gathering on Mount Olympus. Surely his curiosity would draw him there, even if the Huntress had temporarily lured him off on some mysterious errand.
The thought of the conclave gave him a shivering thrill. All of them in one place, just as the Father always wanted. He truly has foreseen everything. He took a swig from his tiny bottle of whiskey and reclined his first-class seat a little further. They’re playing right into our hands, no matter how dire things seem right now.
Still, he couldn’t repress a thread of anxiety. He pushed the call button to summon more whiskey from the flight attendant. Two days, he thought. Two days to accomplish so much.
He wanted more time. And, at the same time, he wished it was already done. The new Age would be so much better than this one—he could barely stand the wait. It would be glorious to behold. Too bad Schultz won’t live to see it. He forced down a pang of regret. There was nothing he could do about the professor’s fate.
He stared out the window of the plane. His own reflection stared back. “I will be forgiven, in the end,” he murmured, trying to convince himself. The reflection grimaced—even his own face didn’t believe his words.
He looked past himself, to the landscape below—to the task at hand. The mountains here didn’t look that different from those in Greece. Their slopes were covered with green, their peaks sharp and barren. But these mountains are silent, he reminded himself. Mount Olympus will sing.
“We just need the musicians to play their parts,” he said aloud. Then he focused once more on his reflection and smirked. “And one damn fine conductor to keep them in tune.”