“Thank the Fates for loopholes.”
—Apollo (Zeus Is Dead: A Monstrously Inconvenient Adventure, Chapter Thirty-five)
THE FIRELIGHT GAVE THALIA’S red hair a glow that seemed to brighten further as she ranted. “I mean, you can’t just yank three iconic sci-fi characters off a starship like that, plunk them around a campfire singing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat,’ and just expect it’s going to work! The fourth movie with the whales was funny, but then they got cocky. I mean, come on. ‘Marshmelons?’ Ugh! I take absolutely zero responsibility for that whole thing!”
“But you said you mused it,” Leif pointed out.
Thalia heaved a put-upon sigh across their own campfire. “Yes, fine, but I didn’t write the thing, I only inspired! There’s a centuries-old Muse saying: ‘You can gas up the car, but you can’t make ’em drive it well.’”
“Centuries old?”
“Mm, we were all a little puzzled about that before the invention of the internal combustion engine, I can tell you. But that’s why I usually try to keep comedy and sci-fi separate, even if I do them both. It’s like chocolate cake and lasagna. A chef can know how to make both; he can even make them in the same meal, but if he tries to mix them up in the same bowl it’s an atrocity against the palate. Same thing with handling both genres, except not really because sometimes it turns out really well. Like Douglas Adams? Oh, now there’s a man that got it! But the genres don’t combine nearly so well all the time, not always, which is the point I’m trying to make, and how did we get on this, anyway?”
Leif started to answer.
“Oh, yes, you asked your silly question,” she finished. “You see, this is what happens when I’m stressed and people take exception to my job description, I—I—I come up with inelegant analogies!” She clenched her eyes shut as if holding back tears. “Life is so unfair!”
Tracy shot her an icy glare that Thalia missed. Apollo, lost as he was in thought beside her, didn’t appear to spot it either. Only Leif noticed, but the whole-heartedly sympathetic smile he’d let fly in Tracy’s direction merely drifted on past her. Tracy instead turned her attention back to her plate of beans that Apollo had somehow whipped up from thin air along with new robes for Thalia and the rest of their current camping gear. Leif had wondered at the choice of cuisine but figured it was at least setting-appropriate. Thalia wiped her eyes.
It was suddenly too quiet for Leif’s liking. “So along the lines of comedy and sci-fi not mixing well,” he tried, “did you have anything to do with Jar Jar B—”
“Oh!” Thalia shrieked. “Oh, don’t you dare! I am so frelling tired of taking abuse for that! That was not my fault! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Would you two shut up already?” Tracy snapped.
Thalia nodded, going on. “Yes, yes, exactly, shut up about it! One little annoying comic character and people just—Look, for every word that combined comedy and sci-fi well, there’s another entire work that just fails to do the same thing—”
“Hyperbole,” Apollo muttered before returning to his thoughts.
“Yes, of course it’s hyperbole, Apollo. Hello? Muse? But I am not going to sit here and be called to task for every single thing that exists—”
Tracy dropped her plate to the dust. “For crying out loud, do we have to listen to—”
“—for every single thing that failed to live up to some geek’s expectations, the majority of which I didn’t have anything to do with anyway, because— my gods!” A tiny sob burst from Thalia’s throat. “I mean, you don’t know what it’s like! Have you been on the Internet? And all I can do is work with what talent the writer—” She gasped for a breath, tears glazing her eyes. She wiped them, staring at the moisture on her fingers. “Now look what you’ve done! I’m crying! I can’t do this, I can’t have this conversation when I’m stressed!”
“You’re stressed?” Tracy yelled. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a hell of a day! I find out that not only is my father a god, but that he’s a murdered god and I’m part of some inter-Olympian strife that I wasn’t even aware of yesterday, plus I’ve got this raging urge for justice that I can’t explain—though it’s possibly because of this amulet that I can’t seem to throw away—and on top of that, a good friend—or colleague, anyway, even if he was a bit of a jackass—is dead because of it all!” She was on her feet now, pointing at Apollo. “And on top of that, he won’t give us any answers about anything because he says he has to think!”
“Well, thank you for the recap!” Thalia yelled back. “You’re not also going to mention how Apollo used his power to help us travel faster on foot so that we’re closer to Vegas than the spot you camped at last night? What about how the doctor had enough of this whole business and decided to wait back with Jason’s body for your cameraman? Or that maybe we’re all a little on edge and you need to lighten up, especially because Jason died a hero and is at this moment very likely to be happily cavorting in the Elysian Fields of the afterlife, and how isn’t that bloody fantastic?!”
“Thalia,” Apollo muttered. It didn’t stop her.
“There now! Everyone’s all caught up! You’d think this was the second half of a two-part TV episode or something! Why not just trot out the ol’ standby ‘As you know’ phrase just to round it out?” She thrust her hands onto her hips. “As you know, Tracy Wallace, I’m Thalia the Muse, and we’re arguing over the campfire because we’re both a little consternated!”
Everybody got that?
“Thalia,” Apollo repeated. It still didn’t register.
“And I don’t like being consternated! I’m the Muse of comedy! I’m supposed to be laughing and happy and light-hearted!” She flung her fingers through her hair with a scream. “Does this look light-hearted to you?!”
“Thalia!”
The Muse turned a radiant smile on Apollo. “What? I’m fine, I’m just fine. Done thinking yet? Who wants more beans? Isn’t legumes a funny word?” She sat back down, fixed her hair in a single motion, and batted her eyelashes.
Leif just blinked. Tracy clutched at the amulet, as if ready to snipe back. Apollo cut her off with a raised hand and a single, “Please.” Tracy turned her glare on him a moment before forcing it back.
“It would be so helpful to me,” she managed, “if we could talk about this. I’ve had all the running and confusion I can take. I know you’re a god, and that’s all really great, but . . .”
Apollo nodded. “I’ve not yet said much because I’m not sure I know much more than you do.”
“And he’s been thinking,” added Thalia.
“And I’ve been thinking. But to correct you on a minor point, I am not a god.”
Tracy scowled. “What’s that, some sort of semantics thing?”
“I knew it!” Leif said. “What is it? You guys are some sort of super-advanced other-dimensional beings or something?”
“. . . Apollo?” Thalia whispered.
The not-god put a hand on the muse's shoulder. Probably he meant it to be reassuring but it didn’t seem to succeed. “I was a god. I’m not anymore. I . . . diminished.”
Thalia gaped wider. “You what? Apollo, are you insane? I mean, I thought I sensed something, but I figured it was just some kind of power shift or some nonsense to do with Ares or a sort of gastrointestinal thing or—”
“It was necessary.”
Tracy’s frown deepened. “Someone’s going to explain to me what that means.”
“I voluntarily renounced my godhood,” Apollo told her. “My power, my standing, all are now less than they were.”
“So, like, you were a general and now you're a private?” Leif asked.
“More like a major. I still retain some of my former power. But yes, your analogy is fairly apt.”
Tracy's frown remained entrenched. “Voluntarily?”
“As I said, it was necessary.”
“Yes, listen up,” Thalia whispered, still in stunned awe. “And, um . . . well let’s just start with question number one here, which I think would be something like, oh golly, let’s just see . . . Why?”
“It is forbidden for one god to attack another.”
“Well, I never heard of that.”
“Neither are you a god, Leif Karlson.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Tracy whacked him in the arm. “Don’t interrupt.”
Leif rubbed the spot. That was going to bruise. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t resist a good dig.
Apollo went on. “After Zeus’s murder, Poseidon made it law to comfort the pantheon. And likely himself. Breaking that law made me a fugitive or at the very least wanted back on Olympus to explain. Then, the moment I explain why I did it—to protect you—our secret would be out, and those who killed Zeus or simply don’t want him back would have me in their grasp.”
“Couldn’t you just make up some story?” Tracy asked.
Thalia laughed.
“He’s a bad liar,” Leif explained.
Apollo nodded. “And no matter what Poseidon’s ruling, Ares— whom I now believe to be one of those responsible for the murder— knows at least some of what we’re up to. He and any coconspirators could try to corner me on Olympus and keep me away from you.”
“What’s any of this got to do with diminishing?”
“Be patient,” Thalia scolded. “Exposition. This sort of thing has to unfold with gravitas!”
“No patience,” Tracy said. “Answers.”
Leif whacked her, but gently, and grinned. “Then stop interrupting.”
“That glare she’s giving you, Leif?” Thalia said. “That’s how you know she doesn’t think it’s funny.”
Apollo cleared his throat, snapping their attention back. “With a little concentration, a god can locate any god of a younger generation. Poseidon, Hera, Hades, any of them could find me no matter my location. Even if I hadn’t broken a law, odds are at least one of them is in league with Ares. In fact, I’m certain that’s the case.”
“So . . .”
“So the rules are very explicit,” Apollo said. “They can locate any god of a younger generation. If I am no longer a god, then I can no longer be located.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, Ms. Wallace, I am not.”
“I told you,” Leif whispered. “It’s easy to tell.”
“The rules really are that screwy sometimes,” Thalia said.
“They can no longer automatically locate me, and what power I have left helps me to cloak myself from the ways they might find a lesser being. Assuming they’re looking for me, I’m hopeful it will take them a while to figure out what I’ve done. We Olympians are often ruled by a fear of losing power, some more than others. It may not even occur to them that I’ve diminished voluntarily. Such a thing would be exceedingly unpalatable to them. Not that I’m exactly thrilled about it myself.”
“Oh, Apollo.” Thalia sighed with a hug at his arm. “What if they strip your portfolio from you entirely? What will you do then? For that matter, what will I do then? I mean, they’ll have to get someone to replace you, and on top of everything else, I do not want to be breaking in a new boss! What if it’s Ares? Or, gods, what if it’s Hades? He’s got no imagination at all and I am not going down to the underworld every single time I have to—” She squeaked and clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm.
“I don’t know,” Apollo told her. “That’s somewhere toward the bottom of our current list of problems. I still have power beyond any mortal, and I’ve gained us some breathing room.”
Leif wondered just what that remaining power entailed and how easily Ares might beat him—or even kill him—if he showed up again. Was Apollo even immortal anymore? Though Zeus had been immortal, and that hadn’t helped him much, had it? Or so went the story. It occurred to Leif that all he had to go on at this point was anyone’s word. Tracy he trusted, but the others? Well, how could he be sure?
Then again, if Apollo and Thalia were lying to him, all of this would have to be one heck of an elaborate snow job, all for Leif’s benefit. Leif couldn’t think of why he would warrant the trouble. Then again (again), didn’t things like this always have a twist at the end, even if the twist made no sense?
Hey, he’d gone a while without saying anything, hadn’t he?
Tracy beat him to it. “So you’ve bought us some time—and I suppose I should thank you for that, as dubious as this loophole sounds—but what now?”
“Tell me again about the vision,” Apollo said.
She sighed. “Fine. For the third time . . .” Tracy related it once more, as she’d done when she first woke up, and as she’d done as they’d fled from Ares’s unconscious body. Leif hadn’t noticed it being so clipped and snarky the first two times.
“A living weapon,” Apollo said.
“I figured that was obvious the first time,” said Leif.
“I may be without godhood, but I am not without pride. Show some respect.” Apollo went silent, presumably thinking. Again. Leif wondered if the not-god would be doing that for the rest of the night, but he didn’t make them wait nearly so long this time. “At the very least, it’s useful to know that Zeus’s death was not attributable to an ability that one of the pantheon has gained, nor a martial weapon easily wielded.”
“Not useful enough for my father,” Tracy said. “You haven’t heard of anything like it before?”
“Our father,” Apollo said. “And no. If any of the Olympians knew of such a thing, the fear it would cause with its very existence . . .”
“Fear?” Leif asked. “Seriously?”
“As I said, we are often ruled by a fear of losing power. Had we known that a weapon existed that could destroy one of us . . . It would be destabilizing at best. I doubt anyone knew.”
“Zeus knew,” Leif said. “He had to or he wouldn’t have done that . . . amulet thingy.”
“Perhaps. He may have simply been aware of a threat without knowing its source.”
Thalia shrugged. “It’s a moot point anyway, isn’t it? We can’t exactly go into the underworld as if he were a mortal and ask his shade.”
“Wait, you can do that?” Leif asked.
“No, I said we can’t do that. I swear on a screaming box of bunnies, nobody listens to me!”
“I meant with mortals.”
“I know what you meant.”
“So why act like you didn’t?”
“Because it was a potentially funny misunderstanding!” Thalia beamed.
Leif blinked. “Not very.”
“Critics! I told you I’m stressed!”
Tracy cut off the exchange with a hand over Leif’s mouth before he could volley back. “That weapon didn’t just pop into existence in that box in Zeus’s office,” she said. “So where did it come from? Who could make it?”
Apollo frowned, apparently thinking once more. For a moment they all waited, and Tracy removed her hand. Leif smiled. “You know you’ve—”
“Compliment my skin and I’ll claw your eyes out, Karlson.”
“The Moirae,” Apollo said suddenly as if that explained it all. Plainly no one else thought so. “More commonly: the Fates. They spin, measure, and cut the very threads of reality. Life and death, existence and oblivion, all they may bend and shape at their will. If there exists a weapon that can kill a god, surely they must know of it.”
Thalia patted him on the shoulder. “Poetically said, Apollo, but that’s not exactly helpful. I mean, they’re not the most forthcoming beings, are they? And even if they did know something and were of a mind to tell it, wouldn’t Poseidon already have asked them about it, learned about it, and told the rest of us about it before he hunted down the . . .” The Muse trailed off, somehow managing to provide her own echo for what Leif presumed was dramatic effect.
“Unless Poseidon was the one responsible in the first place!” Tracy finished.
“Perhaps,” Apollo told them. “Perhaps not. As Thalia said, they may know and simply not be of any mind to share.”
“Or something else less obvious,” Leif suggested.
Apollo nodded. “In any case, I will pay them a visit.”
Thalia gaped. “That means going back to Olympus, Apollo! You just diminished to avoid that very thing! Are you trying for some sort of dramatic irony, because there’s a time and place for that and neither is here or now! Or now and Olympus for gods’ sake! (Oh, I got those backwards the first time, didn’t I?) How in the name of Cerberus’s chew toys do you think you’re going to sneak all of us up there to see them when you’re not even at full strength? Things weren't already challenging enough for you or something?”
“I don’t plan to sneak all of you up there. The Fates dislike mortal visits. I must go alone.”
“Alone?” Thalia cried. “That’s not better! Is that better? How is that better? What are we supposed to do until then, just sit around and—? I can come with you, right? I mean I need a good bath, get some of this sand out of my hair, maybe have a few dozen glasses of ambrosia and— Hey, is this some sort of ‘abandon the younger protagonists to stand on their own for dramatic tension’ thing because again, time and place . . . not now! . . . Or here! And I’m not much younger than you anyway!”
“Stop going back to the trope well, Thalia.”
“If the shoe fits, buy twenty.”
“You have to stay with the mortals, Thalia.”
“Why?”
Apollo pointed at the silver bangle entwined about her bicep. “You know why. And if I know Ares, your sisters are likely being watched. None can come here to take your place.”
Thalia began to protest, stopped, teared up, converted sadness to anger, geared up for an outburst, then bit her lip to shut it all down under Apollo’s gaze, finally nodding. Even those readers imagining her response as quite a production are likely to have imaginations guilty of understatement.
“What’re you to talking about?” Leif pressed, hating to be left out.
“Each Muse wears a bangle that makes her completely untraceable. By anyone,” Apollo said. “It’s one of the main reasons writers hate the question, ‘Where do you get your ideas?’ They can’t figure it out themselves. And the bangle’s power has an aura; if Thalia stays near you, none may divine your location.”
“Oh yeah? So how’d the Erinyes know where to show up?” Leif asked.
“They knew where the monster died,” Thalia said with a sniff.
Apollo nodded. “You can still be spotted by sight, but you’re off the radar. Metaphysically speaking.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?” Tracy demanded. “Leif said you were having visions about all this yourself. Any guidance there?”
Apollo shook his head. “They were about Leif only, I regret to say. While following him led us to you, I knew nothing of you specifically.” Apollo pointed at Leif. “He was climbing the Eiffel Tower and talking to Zeus. There was little of practical—”
“Wait, the Eiffel Tower?” Leif burst. “Climbing? As in outside? At the top?”
“In a rainstorm.”
“Ha!”
“That was the vision.”
“Ha! No way. There’s not—I can’t—Do you have any idea how tall that thing is?”
“Three hundred twenty-four meters. I visited soon after having the vision, looking for further clues to Zeus’s return.”
“That answers my next question,” Tracy said. “I take it you didn’t find anything.”
“No.”
Tracy sighed. “Well, I can’t just sit here waiting, can I? Zeus clearly wanted me to do something.”
“I believe it would be wisest for you to remain with Leif and Thalia for the moment,” Apollo said. “Until I learn more.”
Leif didn’t quite catch Tracy’s protest at that. A previously minor fear of heights was swiftly ballooning in his mind. “That’s not a literal vision, right?” he tried. “It’s a metaphor for something, isn’t it?”
“It may be, but I do not believe—”
Tracy ignored the entire exchange. “How do we even know the Fates are going to be on your side?”
“We do not, but I count it unlikely they would be against us either. They hold themselves aloof from the rest of Olympus. Even Zeus himself was reluctant to challenge them.”
“Okay,” Tracy tried, “so take me with you. They might need to see the amulet.”
Leif remained elsewhere. “What’s the Eiffel Tower?” he whispered. “There’s a radio antenna at the top! A big radio antenna!”
Thalia touched a finger to her lips. “Leif. Shush, honey.”
“And I’m climbing it, talking to a god . . .”
Apollo continued to Tracy. “I cannot risk your presence on Olympus, Ms. Wallace. At least not until we know more. Though it may be wise to take the amulet with me . . .”
“Nope. Zeus wanted me to have it, right? Something tells me I really shouldn’t let it go.”
“A radio antenna . . .” Leif jolted, thinking of something. “A radio! For talking to a god! A radio for talking to God! That’s a line from Raiders of the Lost Ark!”
Tracy scowled, apparently surrendering the battle to ignore him. “And he’s lost his marbles.”
“Prescient visions do not reference movies, Mr. Karlson.”
Leif didn’t let that stop him. “No, but there’s no way I’d climb the actual Eiffel Tower! It’s a reference to the movie obviously! He said that in a Cairo café in the movie! We need to go to Cairo, that’s it!”
Apollo shook his head again. “That was not my impression.”
“So? You didn’t know a thing about Tracy, why can’t you be missing this too! Cairo! Or wherever Harrison Ford lives. Or—or maybe that French actor who played the archeologist in the movie! The one who said the line. Hey, he’s French, just like the Eiffel Tower!” Leif was on his feet. “It’s so obvious. Don’t you see?”
“His name is Paul Freeman,” Thalia told him, “and he’s British.”
“Oh.” Leif sat, crestfallen.
Tracy turned back to Apollo. “How long will your Fates visit take? If I just sit around this campfire for too long, I’m going to go crazy.”
“I understand your urgency, Ms. Wallace—”
“Zeus is dead. Jason’s dead. Someone has to pay for that!”
“I said I understand,” Apollo repeated. “But I must be cautious. Perhaps as much as a day, though I hope for less.”
“For someone who can see the future, that’s not a terribly precise estimate.”
“Hey! Of course!” Leif slapped his own thigh, flush with a sudden epiphany. All eyes were on him again. He beamed back at them, explaining. “Maybe it’s Paul Freeman’s character that’s—”
Apollo’s glare was almost audible. His voice certainly was. “No, Mr. Karlson! That is not! It! Know that in my time I’ve interpreted more visions than you’ve had foolish thoughts in your head, and I choose such an insanely high number to impress upon you the incredible mind-boggling vastness of my experience! You will let this go! The vision is literal! Take my word for it or don’t, but either way you will stop babbling and we will all be much, much happier!”
“Or at least seventy-five percent of us,” Thalia cracked.
Leif cast about the group for any sort of support at all. Obviously there was none from Apollo. Thalia just seemed amused. Tracy . . . damn, she had gorgeous eyes. He lingered there a moment.
“Fine,” Leif managed finally. He turned to stare into the campfire. “Know-it-all god-posers.”
“I didn’t quite catch that?”
“I said ‘sorry,’” Leif grumbled.
“Yes, that’s what I thought you said. As for the topic at hand, while I’m gone, it might be prudent for the three of you to return to Las Vegas. It’s not a perfect option, but the city isn’t far off, and you’ll be less exposed than you are out here, provided you keep a low profile.”
As the others worked out just where they would meet back up with Apollo―and how long of a hotel bath Thalia might be able to take in the meantime―Leif’s mind drifted. Okay, he consoled himself, all right, so maybe it wasn’t that bad. Zeus wasn’t back yet, was he? Zeus had to be back for the vision to be true, so at the very least he had a little time. If the vision was literal, that meant that Zeus would be right there, and if Leif had helped bring him back somehow, surely the god wouldn’t let him fall off the tower, right? Maybe. He supposed he would find out when—Leif gasped, seizing upon a hope: If it was a vision of the future, well, that would mean he’d survive until then, wouldn’t it? Whatever trouble there was coming up the pike—angry gods; divine conspiracies; stolen mochas; vindictive, bleeding-eyed bat-women—he’d have to survive it in order to fulfill the vision! Leif was suddenly conscious of grinning like an idiot, but as it was the grin of an idiot who’d been granted a prophetic guarantee of safety, he didn’t really care.
Of course, if Tracy herself wasn’t in the vision, did that mean something had happened to her? The thought froze him solid. Geez, what if that was it? What if she was fated to die? He instinctively reached out to give her hand a protective squeeze before he could stop himself. So genuine was his alarm that Tracy didn’t even yank it free.
“What? What is it?” she started.
Leif held on. His appreciation for the sensation of physical contact stunned him into hesitation. Just as stunning was the novelty that she hadn’t pulled away. Dear gods, he loved this woman. Again, he wondered why, and again he didn’t care. He suddenly noticed that her eyes were fixed on his, searching for the reason for his alarm. He couldn’t bear to tell her.
“Karlson?”
“I—it’s nothing.”
The tolerated physical contact ended there, followed shortly thereafter by Tracy’s fist driving its way into his solar plexus. Then for a little while, nothing of interest happened, so we’ll just skip ahead to when something does.
It may or may not have to do with sex.