Chapter 40

SHE WHO DWELLS ON THE HEIGHTS

Hiking boots. Hiking boots. Hiking boots, Theo thought every time the blisters on his heels slammed against the back of his canvas sneakers. Which happened every time he took a step. And he’d taken hundreds of thousands of steps so far. He took another step anyway.

Next time, don’t travel without hiking boots, because you never know when you’ll be scaling the highest mountain in Greece while carrying one end of a stretcher holding a hundred and fifty pounds of god-flesh. Without Scooter to help, he and Selene had decided to simply carry Zeus up the mountain on their own. They’d lugged the litter straight uphill for six hours, and they still weren’t above the tree line.

I should be taking careful notes, he knew. Zeus had summoned him to bear witness to their conclave—to record it as the ancient poets had done. But all he could think about was the pain in his feet. Carrying the damn stretcher is giving me blisters on my hands, too, he decided, clenching his teeth against a gasped, “Are we there yet?” I’m only thirty-three, he reminded himself. I am a fit person. I really am. I’m not going to pass out. But hiking with a goddess was enough to make any man question his abilities.

Neither Selene’s knee-high leather boots nor the fact that she’d been carrying the heavier downhill end of Zeus’s litter seemed to have any effect on her. In fact, he’d rarely seen her looking so at home.

Of course, he realized. This is her home. Not just Mount Olympus, where she theoretically had a palace above the clouds, but all mountains were home to She Who Dwells on the Heights. Selene no longer seemed a jaded New Yorker, closed off to everything around her. The higher they climbed, the more at ease she appeared. Only when she glanced down at her unconscious father on the stretcher did the usual scowl crease her forehead. Otherwise, she barely looked like the woman he’d fallen in love with. It made it easier to remember he wasn’t in love with her anymore.

The last two nights, he’d lain in his hotel bed—first in Turkey and then for a few hours in a small town at the base of Mount Olympus—knowing that Selene lay on the other side of the wall. The tiny soapstone Artemis statue he’d bought in Ephesus stood on the bedside table, staring at him sternly from beneath her tall crown. He imagined the real Selene wasn’t asleep either—she’d always been nearly nocturnal—but he could picture her trying to rest, her long limbs sprawled across her bed, her breasts falling to the side as she rolled … Stop it, he told himself sternly, taking another step up the mountain.

He’d found it disturbingly easy to slip back into their old partnership during their hunt for Athena. Piecing together clues with her reminded him of their first week together, when he’d learned to love her. He’d spent the flight from Turkey to Athens repeating the same phrase to himself: Don’t do it, Theo. Don’t forget that she lied to you and never apologized. She doesn’t even really understand that what she did was wrong—which means she’ll just do it again. Let her go.

A dozen times the night before, he’d almost gotten up and knocked on her door anyway. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say to her. In case you’re lying there wondering—yeah, I’m still pissed. That was one possibility. Screw you for hurting me like that. That was another. Or, he could just take her in his arms and run his hands down her back and bury his face in her neck and tell her how much he—STOP IT.

He took another step. Then another. Hiking boots. Hiking boots.

Optimism was a new emotion for Selene. Fierce confidence in her own abilities—yes, that she could usually summon. But blind faith that everything would work out all right, even things beyond her control? That was something she’d lost around the time Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity. Yet the minute she’d stepped foot on the mountain, she couldn’t suppress a surge of elation. Everywhere in Greece had changed over the millennia—except here. Mount Olympus had always been a wild place, and it still was. No temples or shrines had graced its slopes; the mountain itself was a temple, its towering pines and jagged spurs of rock the only columns it required.

She knew Theo was still angry. He’d barely spoken to her all day, just trudged before her, dutifully carrying the other end of the stretcher. But neither his reticence nor their delayed arrival on Olympus could dampen her spirits. Theo will forgive me, she knew somehow. And Father will be strong again. The mountain will make it happen.

They’d started their hike before dawn. They needed to arrive at the summit before the almost daily storms moved in to make the ascent impossible—there was a reason Olympus was known as the home of He Who Marshals Thunderheads. But despite slowing her pace to match Theo’s, Selene felt absolutely sure they’d make it to the top in time. There, they would reunite with Scooter and the other Athanatoi. With Maryam and her spear, Selene decided, we will cast Saturn into Tartarus and cure Father of his weakness at the same time.

As the sun rose, the mountain burst into color around her. Wildflowers carpeted the slopes: bright clusters of sunny yarrow, waving stalks of magenta fireweed, delicate chandeliers of purple and white columbine. She passed a patch of sky blue flowers no bigger than raindrops. She could almost hear them whispering their name to her: Forget-me-not, forget-me-not, forget-me-not. We’ve been here all along, they seemed to say. You abandoned us. Don’t do it again.

I won’t, Selene thought, breathing the scent of the pine trees, the hot earth, the blooming flowers. Of Theo’s sweat, floating toward her on the warm air. Musky and sweet and familiar.

She looked down at her sleeping father on his stretcher. The wind tossed his beard, its strands only a shade darker than his chalky face.

“We’re almost there,” she murmured to him. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I know you’re talking to your dad,” Theo panted without turning around, “but I’m taking that as encouragement for me, too.”

“Go right ahead.” Selene looked at Theo’s sweat-drenched neck, knowing he was struggling under the weight of the stretcher. Maybe it’s a good thing he refused to lug Orion’s sword and Hades’ helm up here, too, she decided, despite trying to convince him otherwise that morning. “I’m done with divine weapons,” he’d insisted. “I’m here as a witness, not a warrior.”

So far, despite his obvious exhaustion, Theo hadn’t complained. He wants to help bear my burdens—what better sign that he still cares? Either that or he’s persevering out of sheer stubbornness.

Stubbornness was certainly all that kept Flint going. Despite his titanium leg braces, he was obviously in extreme pain. He’d fallen farther and farther behind over the last hour. She glanced through the thinning trees to watch him plodding up the switchbacking path at least half a mile back.

Maryam fared better. She walked just behind Selene, using her spear as a trekking pole. Unsurprisingly, she’d somehow managed to procure sturdy boots, lightweight hiking pants, and a large pack—she’d always known how to plan ahead. After the dramatic investiture in the Parthenon, Selene had expected Maryam to act like the Athena she remembered: smug, self-righteous, and maddeningly bossy. But instead, despite her newly sensible outfit and the spear at her side, the former nun walked silently, head bowed like a penitent. Selene found her obliviousness to the landscape’s beauty personally offensive. Athena had always been a city goddess, but how could anyone be unmoved by the mountain’s glory?

“Hey,” Selene said, drawing Maryam’s attention. “The shelter isn’t far away now. How about you go down and help Flint while we carry Father the rest of the way?”

Maryam looked thoughtful, then said, “Yes.” She turned around abruptly and marched back down the path.

Selene wondered if Theo found the Gray-Eyed Goddess as odd as she did, but from his labored breathing she got the feeling he cared only about his next step. She shifted her hands on the stretcher handles to take a little more of the weight. We’ll have time to compare notes about my family when this is all over, she decided.

After another twenty minutes, they finally reached the mountain shelter at the edge of the tree line, where hikers could spend the night before their final ascent. A wooden building roofed with solar panels stood in the center of a wide terrace. The slope dropped off before it, allowing a view back down the gorge, and rose precipitously behind, promising a steep climb to the summit.

Scooter lay on his back on a picnic table, basking in the sun. He bounced up when Selene called his name and yelped, “Where have you been?”

Before she could answer, he looked at their father, eyes widening. “You said he’d gotten worse. You didn’t say he looked like Bela Lugosi on a bad day.” Despite his levity, she caught a flash of real concern on his face as he stared at Zeus’s unconscious form. “Why’d you carry him all that way when you could’ve just taken one of the mules?”

Theo gave a sound halfway between a shout and a sob. “Are you kidding me?” He collapsed on a nearby bench and eased off his backpack. “What mules?”

Scooter jerked a thumb toward a small paddock holding a dozen pack animals.

Selene glared at her brother. “You’re such an asshole.”

Scooter threw up his hands. “Don’t blame me! I told you to meet me at the base of the mountain yesterday. Mules for all and a nice overnight in the shelter! Not to mention a helicopter for the final ascent to the summit.”

“Helicopter, huh?” Theo asked eagerly.

“Yup. We already took a trip hours ago. That’s how I got the old folks up to the top—including Saturn. He’s all ready for his little joyride to Tartarus. Just waking up from his gin and morphine cocktail. But don’t worry; he’s tied up tighter than a Botoxed forehead, and I left our blue-haired uncle to guard him. I gave him back his trident, and he’s having way too much fun poking the tines into Grandpa’s spine whenever he gets feisty.”

“Please tell me the helicopter’s coming back for us,” Theo pleaded.

“Sorry, my friend. Way too late in the day—not enough visibility for a flight. And the mules can’t do the final ascent, so we’ll have to hoof it on our own.” Scooter narrowed his eyes at Selene. “Why are you all so late anyway?”

“We made a little detour to fill out the pantheon.” Selene was looking forward to seeing his face when Athena arrived.

“Finding our missing kin is my job, darling.” He looked mildly offended. And worried. “Who did you—”

“Bonjour, mes amis!” a cheerful voice interrupted. Philippe Amata—previously known as Eros, God of Love—stood in the doorway of the mountain shelter, waving his lit cigarette merrily. Blond hair as spiky as usual, slender frame garbed in formfitting jeans and an even tighter shirt. He hurried forward and kissed Selene soundly on both cheeks before she could stop him, then repeated the process with Theo, who stiffened in his embrace—no doubt remembering the love dart Philippe had shot into his arm after Selene’s “death.”

Philippe held Theo at arm’s length with a bashful smile. “I’ll have you know I told her not to lie to you.”

Selene wanted to tell him he wasn’t helping, but Philippe had already turned to Zeus with a gasp of dismay. “He looks terrible!”

“I know,” Selene growled. “Which is why we don’t have time to waste. We’re only stopping here long enough to gather everyone together. Then we keep going. Helicopter or no.”

Philippe nodded. “But where’s Papa?”

“Your stepfather’s about half a mile behind us,” Selene told him.

“Ah, merde,” he cursed. “I will go help.” Philippe trotted off to the paddock and led the sturdiest mule back down the path.

“There goes my angel. Always so full of l’amour even for those who don’t deserve it,” said a woman emerging from the shelter in a high-waisted 1940s safari suit. Her crystalline blue eyes flicked to Selene. “It’s been too long, Huntress.”

Or not long enough, Selene thought, smothering a groan. Aphrodite. As the Chaste One, Selene had a pathological aversion to the Goddess of Erotic Love. She could almost feel her optimism leaking away. Nothing about this trip was going to be as easy as it seemed.

The goddess sashayed onto the terrace, tucked a stray blond curl back beneath her brightly patterned Hermès silk kerchief—no doubt a gift from Scooter—and walked to Zeus. She knelt gracefully beside the stretcher to brush a kiss on the lined forehead of the man who had been her king and, like all the male Olympians, her sometime lover. “I wouldn’t have recognized him with all his beauty gone,” she said worriedly, as if his looks mattered more than his ragged breathing.

She rose to her feet in a single sensuous movement and, ignoring Scooter and Selene entirely, made straight for Theo. She gave him her hand palm down, clearly expecting him to kiss it.

“Esme Amata,” she introduced herself, her voice a throaty, seductive murmur. Unlike her son, Esme had no French accent, although Selene suspected she could speak in whatever accent she chose, depending on the whim of the man she was trying to seduce. It seemed one Athanatos, at least, hadn’t changed a bit. “You’re the handsome Makarites my son was raving about.”

Theo took her hand, clearly flustered, and shook it firmly. Selene tried and failed not to notice his eyes widening as he took in the voluptuous perfection of Esme’s figure, the coral-shell hue of her generous mouth, the dove-soft luster of her skin. She no longer looked like the young, nubile woman she’d been in her prime—she looked better. Maturity agreed with her.

Esme took a bold step closer to Theo. “I’ve heard all about you. The Huntress doesn’t know what she threw away, does she?”

One more step toward him, Selene seethed silently, and I’ll throw away her next. Right over the side of this mountain.

Theo started to stutter an answer, but Esme talked right over him. “I like a man who likes strong women. And, unlike some relatives of mine, I’m not scared of a little”—she blinked languorously—“intimacy.”

Selene’s fingernails had carved deep crescents in her palms. I told Flint he didn’t get to own me. I don’t get to own Theo, she reminded herself. She felt a sudden moment of empathy for Flint nonetheless. Possessiveness came naturally to the gods.

A puff of smoke wafted from the door of the shelter. A pungent mixture of marijuana, mint, and pennyroyal. Which could only mean one thing.

“Dennis is here?” Theo sniffed the air.

Selene’s mood blackened further. She still hadn’t forgiven the God of Wine for encouraging Theo to kill himself.

Scooter shrugged. “Pop said he wanted his whole family, right? I’m just following orders.”

“Any more surprises?” Selene demanded. “Are all the aunts and uncles already on the summit?”

“Of course!” His self-satisfied smile shrank a centimeter. “Well … those that are left, anyway.” He lowered his voice as he spoke their true names. “Demeter, Hestia, and Hera. Uncle Poseidon, like I said, is guarding Grandpa. And Cora’s there, too.”

Cora, once called Persephone, was their sister-cousin, the offspring of Zeus and his sister Demeter. As the Goddess of Spring, Persephone had once looked younger even than the perennially youthful Apollo and Artemis. But her status as a minor goddess, bereft of the name recognition the Olympians enjoyed, had consigned her to more rapid fading than the others. When Selene had last seen her, Cora had looked like a woman in her sixties. The Mithraists’ brutal murder of her beloved husband, Hades, the God of the Underworld, could only have aged her further.

“How’d you manage to convince Aunt June to come? She had no interest in helping Father. You tore her away from her honeymoon with young Maurizio?”

“Kicking and screaming.” Scooter grinned. “But hey, no one can resist a Great Gathering of the Gods.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Another cloud of reeking smoke drifted from the shelter. Esme thrummed a chuckle and batted her lashes at Theo. Selene grunted.

She returned to Zeus’s side, laying a hand on his clammy forehead. “You’re going to owe me one, Father,” she murmured to him. “There’s nothing like a family reunion to make me want to disown ninety percent of my relations.”