“Without quests, heroes would just be insufferably competent mortals laying around in equally insufferable fashion making for insufferably boring stories. Put those vainglorious folks to work!”
—Hera (inter-Olympian memo, circa 4250 BC)
“Hera should send Hercules on a quest to bring her another word for ‘insufferable.’”
—Athena (off-hand utterance, moments after circa 4250 BC)
THE HOODIE PLAN WORKED, despite the odds of finding thick, hooded sweatshirts in a desert town during springtime. No security guards swooped down on them as they entered their own hotel. No divine power locked down the elevator as they rode up to their floor. No rampaging stampedes of frisky pandas trampled them in the hallway on the way to their rooms. (This is not to say that there’s ever an increased danger of frisky pandas after angering Dionysus, but government-funded studies show that large segments of the population consider hormonal panda stampedes unwanted, so as we’re listing things that thankfully did not occur, the pandas may as well be included.)
Tracy couldn’t replace her lost glasses but didn’t bother trying, as they were only prescription-free lenses she wore in order to be taken more seriously. (No god’s daughter would have imperfect vision, after all.) Not that she planned to admit as much, but so far no one had brought it up.
They found Apollo waiting for them when they reached Thalia’s suite.
Thalia clapped and raced forward to tackle him in a hug, adding numerous pecks on the cheek for good measure. “You made it!” she cried. “I mean sure, Obvious Statement Theater, but such fantastic timing! Couldn’t be better! Unless you’ve been waiting here long? How long were you waiting? How are the Fates? How’s Poppy?” Thalia beamed in perfectly Thalia-esque fashion.
Apollo returned the hug. “It took both more and less time than I tho—You know about Poppy?”
“Oh, of course I know about Poppy, don’t you read the newsletter? We e-mail back and forth now and again, when there’s time. Nice girl. A bit quiet.”
“You might have mentioned that before I went there.”
Thalia shrugged. “I figured you knew! It’s not as if I could’ve emailed her about all this. For one thing she’s not online very much, and for another they’ve got a firewall or something that filters out the kinds of questions you wanted to ask anyway, and besides, what if someone hacked their email? So she’s well? How’d it go?”
“Dionysus is with Ares,” Tracy announced before he could answer.
Thalia nodded to that. “Oh, that too, yes, but one thing at a time.”
Apollo blinked. “I wouldn’t have pegged him for having the initiative. You’re certain of this?”
“Fooey, now you’ve distracted him,” pouted Thalia.
Tracy nodded. “Pretty certain. He caged us up, the guy who stole the amulet was reporting to him, and—”
“Guy who stole the amulet? I see you’ve already solved that problem, but I think you ought to catch me up on just what’s gone on down here. And why are you all wearing hoodies?”
As Thalia removed hers and tossed it onto the couch with a glare that puzzled Apollo, Tracy related all that happened since his departure from the campsite. Leif provided color commentary.
“We need to get out of Las Vegas as soon as divinely possible,” Apollo said when they finished.
“I’m hoping we get to find out what you discovered from the Fates,” Tracy answered. “And I’m changing clothes before we leave. Talk loudly.” She hurried through the adjoining door to her own suite for a purpose that visibly showered Leif with disappointment.
Apollo sat in a plush chair before he began. “It was not a wasted trip. The Fates created the weapon that killed Zeus, but I don’t think they’re involved with his death. He commissioned them to create it toward the end of the Titan War, but they finished it too late, so he hid it away. I think some of the others found out about it and used it on him.”
“That’s awful!” Thalia cried. “And fascinating. And how’s Poppy?” She gave Apollo’s shin a tiny kick. It bothered him more than it should have.
“She’s fine. And quite helpful, even.” He went on, telling them how the UnMaking Nexus required a bit of immortal blood to prime it and how it attacked the first immortal it could find when it awakened.
Tracy returned through the door wearing belted jeans tucked into low-heeled boots; a long-sleeved, button-down shirt under a light vest; and a hat that Apollo figured qualified as jaunty. “We already know it works, right? Does that help us undoing what it does?”
“Probably not as such, but there’s a loophole that Zeus knew about. Your amulet—his amulet—he’s right, it’s the key. As are you, Tracy Wallace.”
“Right, and I do what about that, exactly? One of them told you, yes? Please?”
“You must journey to one of Zeus’s temples—”
“That’s something of a problem, isn’t it?” Leif asked. “If all you guys built temples after coming—and after he died—I've got to think he doesn’t have any new ones. Or can we make a temple here out of couch cushions and blankets?”
“A problem, but not insurmountable,” Apollo told them. “Some still exist in hidden places.”
“Though they could use a bit of paint,” Thalia added.
“Does Tracy have to go there alone?” Leif asked.
“We shall make the journey with her.”
“Good.” Tracy smiled before glancing at Leif. “I guess.”
“There’s more. Once Tracy brings the amulet to Zeus’s temple, she must say some words of power and make a sacrifice of her lifeblood while wearing the amulet. That will complete the ritual and reconstitute Father Zeus from the essence that he placed within it.”
Tracy swallowed the macadamia nuts she’d been munching. “Excuse me?”
Leif looked stricken, likely unrelated to macadamia nuts. “What? How much ‘lifeblood’ are we talking here? Fatal?”
“Do you know another meaning of lifeblood?” asked Apollo.
“It’s not exactly a word I banty about daily.”
“It’s ‘bandy,’ sweetheart,” Thalia corrected.
“That too.”
“Yes, the amount of blood needed for the sacrifice would be enough to kill any mortal, regardless of any immortal parentage. However—”
Leif perked up and interrupted. “However? Aha! However! There’s always a however. Good. Lay it on us.”
“There are two things she can do to increase her power enough to complete the ritual without making such a sacrifice: either seduce someone of sufficient heroism and absorb their power sexually, or—”
At this, Leif interrupted again. (It was one of his strengths.) “Oh, hey, done! I’m heroic. She can seduce me! It won’t be that hard. Er, I mean—”
“No,” Tracy said.
Thalia patted Leif’s shoulder. “I think he means more traditionally heroic, honey.”
Apollo nodded.
“Hey! I just beat a god in a game of cards! How much more heroic can I—?”
“No,” Tracy repeated.
“Beat him with help,” Thalia pointed out.
“Hey, I’m in that vision for a reason, you know. Maybe this is my connection. Maybe I’m more heroic than you—”
“No!” Tracy insisted. “Seduction’s right out, involving you or anyone else! Now what’s the ‘or’ part?”
“You know,” Apollo considered, “he may be right.”
Thalia raised an eyebrow.
“Exactly! See? Apollo knows what he’s talking about.”
“I said you may be right, Karlson. I did not say—”
“I’m heroic, damn it!”
Tracy, meanwhile, buried her face in her hands in a likely effort to hide what looked to be growing frustration. Apollo spoke to her gently, ignoring Leif.
“Don’t worry. We can find a better candidate easily enough. In any case, don’t discount it too quickly. You’re a beautiful woman. It wouldn’t be that hard.”
“I said no and I meant it!” Tracy growled. “Why does every problem have to be solved with sex around here?”
“I'm with her,” Thalia said. “I mean, I know what I counseled before with Dionysus and so forth, but the fact is the whole mystical-power- through-sex thing is incredibly overdone these days, no matter what conventions' worth of supernatural romance authors say.”
“Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be doing it. You’ve got no right to say otherwise, god or not.”
Apollo begrudged a nod, still wrestling with her unexpected refusal at the idea. “Are you certain you’re Zeus’s daughter?” he asked finally.
Tracy just crossed her arms and glared. Thalia put a supportive hand on her shoulder.
“Artemis is Zeus’s daughter too,” said the Muse, “and you know how she is.”
“Thank you,” Tracy told her. “Now are you going to tell us that other option? Please?”
“The other option is more involved.”
Tracy laughed. “That’s a matter of perspective.”
“You must complete a quest, and in so doing, you shall become properly heroic yourself.”
“I like that a lot better.”
“Well, I don’t!” Leif declared. “Now it’s an MMO? She has to XP grind first? Like a ‘Go gather a hundred jars of woodchuck polish and return to me,’ kind of thing? What a pain in the ass.”
Apollo stood in an attempt to regain a bit of superiority in the room. Why did he feel like he was losing it? Two mortals and a Muse against his own godhood—he should be just fine! Well, former godhood. Blasted diminishing! He still had power, did he not?
He walked to the window and gazed out, taking a moment to smack his sense of potency back into place before it slipped away. With any luck, the pause would add some situational gravitas for the others too.
“I am uncertain of the exact nature of the quest,” he said finally, “but it must be a traditional quest, which means only a mortal regent, a true oracle, or a god may assign it to you. Are you on familiar terms with your nation’s president? Or even the ruler of a small island nation?”
“Not this week, no. And I suppose it’s too much to hope for that you’d be able to give me a quest directly, what with the diminishing, yes?”
Apollo nodded, wincing inwardly. “Nor do I believe we can bring your request to any other gods for fear they may be secretly against us.”
“Not even Artemis?” Thalia offered.
Apollo hesitated at that. He’d still not told his sister the whole story about bringing Zeus back. He’d pondered that decision since seeing her last but remained uncertain about the nature of his reluctance. Perhaps it was intuition. Perhaps he was just paranoid, or overcautious. In any case . . .
“She helped me to see the Fates, and the others are likely watching her even more closely than I originally thought; I’m not willing to risk her involvement again when I may need her later. Fortunately—”
“Oh!” Thalia batted his shoulder excitedly. “Oh, what about Demeter? Surely we can trust her; she wouldn’t be against you!”
“She wouldn’t be against anybody, which is rather the problem. Besides, you know what she’s like. The second we were gone, she’d be rambling to someone else about how that nice Apollo stopped by for a visit.”
“You’re not that nice,” Leif offered.
Apollo focused a glare at him. “No. I’m not.” He let that sink in, trying to regain a bit more respect. It didn’t seem to work. He went on.
“On the plus side, we’ve no need to deal with a god; we do have an oracle. The greatest oracle in the world: My oracle!” He smiled broadly and waited for that to sink in—good news, a ray of hope, a beam of light streaming from his power and influence: “The Oracle at Delphi!”
The announcement didn’t garner as much awe as he’d hoped. In hindsight, it was a miracle no one had interrupted.
Leif scoffed. “Delphi? That’s a hell of a long way away, isn’t it?”
“Shut it, Karlson, I’m not sleeping with you. Though if there’s an oracle that’s closer, maybe that’d be better?”
Apollo exchanged a knowing glance with Thalia. “Why do mortals always think us so behind the times?” he asked. “I should like to borrow your phone, Thalia. Mine’s, ah, suspended. For the moment.”
Thalia grinned and tossed it to him. He dialed the number by memory. It picked up after the first ring.
“Ah, hello, Elene? It’s me.” He sighed. “Apollo. That’s quite all right; I realize it’s late. Yes, yes, it’s an honor and a pleasure, I know. I know. Now—Elene, please, I’m always happy to receive your praise, but I’ve no time to chat at the moment. Would you please put Verity on the phone? Thank you.”
He covered the mic and turned to Thalia. “Has my voice changed at all since I diminished?”
“Oh, um . . . not that I’ve noticed?” She grinned happily.
“Must be your phone.” He uncovered the mic as the Delphic Oracle Verity (who was originally from Canada but had lived on Delphi since the 1980s after some trouble with the law) came on the line, sounding tired. “Verity, how are you?” He sighed. “It’s Apollo! Yes, of course you’ve been expecting my call. Listen, I need a basic quest assignment from you, for a mortal: Tracy—” He covered the mic again, looking to Tracy. “What’s your middle name?”
“Daphne.”
“Daphne? Really? Huh.” Talk about opening old wounds. He uncovered the mic. “Tracy Daphne Wallace. Yes. No, nothing complex, just a standard J-stroke-fourteen. Fastest quest option you have if there’s a choice, but it needs to be at least a level four. Yes. Yes, your god is pleased. Thank you. All right, text Thalia when you have it. I’m using her phone. Long story, and shouldn’t you already know that? No, it’s all right. Blessings of light upon you and all that.”
He hung up the phone and handed it back to Thalia. “It will be about fifteen minutes, and then we should have our quest. You two should pack.”
Tracy nodded and headed back to her room. Leif followed suit, heading for the other adjoining door where he stopped with a grin. “Think the quest’ll be ‘seduce someone?’”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Leif's grin crumbled, and he vanished into his room. Thalia closed the door after him. She closed Tracy’s in turn and looked to Apollo.
“Does Leif’s infatuation with Tracy seem normal to you? I know we weren’t following him for very long before he met her so I can’t be entirely sure, but it does seem unusually strong. Not that sometimes things aren’t like that, and maybe knowing he’s a part of things anyway because of your vision is making him feel obligated to go along with her—but, well, you know how reluctant he was to help when you first talked to him. I can’t help but wonder if it’s entirely natural.”
“I’m pretty certain it’s not, but as you said, he was reluctant when I first talked to him, and now he’s helping. Like it or not, he is involved in Zeus’s return somehow. For the moment it’s helpful if he’s devoted to the person who is the key to that return, so why meddle?”
Thalia grinned. “You devious little sun god! You did this somehow, didn’t you? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“On the contrary, I did not. And I do not. And watch who you’re calling little.”
“Oh. Well if you didn’t then obviously someone else did, so that means who? Aphrodite? Eros? How are they involved?”
“Hard to be sure. We don’t know which one did it, nor can we be sure why. Those two toss arrows around like business cards, after all.”
Going strictly by the numbers, it was more likely Eros. (Most in the West knew him as Cupid, but he’d renounced that name some fifty years ago when the whole naked-archer-baby image got far too out of hand for the youth’s liking. “Sure, everyone loves babies,” the perpetual teenager had complained to Apollo during an archery lesson, “but there’s no way diapers are sexy.” There was also a dispute with a greeting card company that he’d been unable to resolve to his liking while the Withdrawal edict was in place, but Apollo was unfamiliar with the details.) As Aphrodite’s son, he’d long ago been delegated the task of shooting random love-arrows. The goddess herself still did it too, of course, but less often.
“And even if someone shot Leif on the conspiracy’s behalf,” he went on, “we’ve no idea if the person who did it is involved in Zeus’s murder.”
“So there’s no way to be sure if the archer is a conspirator, or if the real conspirators just dared him or her to shoot an arrow at Leif without offering a reason.”
Apollo frowned. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Yes, but sometimes it’s good to be clear so people understand.”
“People? It’s just you and me here, Thalia.”
She patronized him with a pat on the hand that didn’t help his diminishment issues.
“Further on the subject of undermining my authority, exactly who gave you permission to loose the Idiot Ball into the real world?”
Thalia gulped and fluttered her lashes. “It was necessary? Well, it was! We don’t know who to trust, like you said, so tossing the Idiot Ball at someone who’s cornered us could get us out of a very tight spot, especially with the mortals running around without your protection! And it did, I might add! In fact I am adding it, see? It’s added. How about a game of Scrabble?”
“And where were the mortals when you were off calling forth the Idiot Ball? Running around alone like that without the protection I told you to provide them?”
“Oh, yes, but they were headed to see Dionysus and I thought it best if I stayed out of that!” She fixed him with a defiant stare that swiftly crumpled. “I gave her my bangle; they weren’t in that much danger! And—well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it all turned out just fine!”
Apollo punctuated his nod with a sigh. She was probably right. “Even so, the Idiot Ball is out there now, and that’s not what it’s for. Getting it back to its place in the Hall of Creative Abstract Concepts will be a chore.”
“Hmm, well that’s really not our biggest priority right now, is it? Dionysus has it and he’s against us, so really, for the moment, it’s fine where it is, I should say.”
“When this is all over, it’s your responsibility to put it back,” he told her. “Do your sisters know?”
“Of course they know. Who do you think helped me get it? And so we can’t use it for a while, so what? We only kept it around to use when lousy writers asked us for help and we didn’t want to deal with them. We can just ignore them in the meantime.” She blinked. “And what do you mean it’s my responsibility to put it back?”
Apollo ignored the question. “I shudder to think how this will crash the production schedules of all those sitcoms, but we’ll worry about damage control another time.”
“Calliope’s the one who coalesced it for me,” Thalia grumbled. “Make her put it back.”
The Delphic Oracle’s quest for Tracy came via text message a few moments later. Tracy was busy finishing her final bit of packing, marveling at the sudden changes in her life and wondering if the slight weakness she’d been feeling since getting the amulet back was due to stress or something else. She figured that with her luck, it was something else—and anyone who disagrees with her can answer the question of just why we’d bother to mention it at all if that were not the case.
Not that it isn't sometimes fun to mention things for no reason. The platypus, for example, is not actually a terrestrial animal but a bioengineered probe designed to blend in amongst the planet’s other creatures, sent to Earth by aliens who did not do enough research. There’s no reason at all to mention that right now, but wasn’t it fun?
Don’t make that face; it’s rude.