Myths of Immortality (The Sphinx Book 3) Page 5

  Her stomach wanted to continue to roil and heave, but she refused to let it. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, adding another layer of grime, and straightened. Her eyes locked on a familiar dark gaze, and she froze.

  Obelia’s eyes narrowed. The demigod daughter of Hestia was dressed as if ready for a night on the town, in a bright magenta top and fitted jeans. She turned, and Hope saw the gaping holes in the back of her shirt.

  Skia. Hope ground her teeth, and then she dropped her shoulders. Athan would be so upset if he knew. Maybe he did know . . . Maybe he’d been there.

  Hope pushed through the crowd with a new sense of resolve. She had to know. She got to the dock just as Obelia handed Charon a coin.

  “Wait!” Hope yelled.

  Obelia turned, and with a raised eyebrow, she flipped Hope off.

  As if Hope even cared.

  “Is Athan okay?” she demanded.

  Obelia curled her lip into a sneer. Turning her back on Hope, the daughter of Hestia pushed her way through the other passengers, crossing to the far end of the skiff.

  Hope stepped onto the dock. She needed to get across, and she wanted to ask Obelia if Athan had recovered from the Skia attack. Hope ignored the fear bubbling up in her chest, the what-ifs, and the consequences of failure. She could do this. With a fortifying breath, Hope moved toward the boat.

  A pale, bony hand extended out from the dark robe. When Hope tried to step onto the ferry, the hand firmly pushed her back.

  “No,” Hope protested, “I’m not dead.”

  Surely, the living wouldn’t require payment. It wasn’t like she was going to be staying.

  “No fee, no service,” the god intoned. His voice was rough, like he didn’t use it enough, and the coppery smell of blood wafted from under his hood.

  She gritted her teeth. “I just need to get across.”

  The god continued to bar her entrance.

  “Fine. At least let me talk to my friend.” Hope waved toward the front of the boat where Obelia stood.

  “No payment, no entrance,” he said. This time, he brought his pole out of the water and set it on the dock in front of her.

  It was ridiculous. She understood the dead were required to make a payment, but she was alive . Why wouldn’t the walking corpse get it through his head? She wanted to talk to Obelia to find out if Athan was okay, but Hope needed to get across the river.

  She pushed the pole away and stepped forward.

  Blinding pain cracked against her back. Hope stumbled, lost her footing, and fell forward. Instinctively, she extended her hands to brace for the impact. Sharp pain exploded from her extremities to her brain, as if she’d landed on shards of broken glass. Agony stole her breath, and Hope scrambled to stand, to get off of whatever was causing the blinding anguish. A vice gripped her wrist and pulled her forward, acid splashing on her face, burning her skin.

  Oh, gods! She was in the river. She screamed and thrashed, refusing to let the water-demons take her. Bones crunched and snapped, the vice released her, and the pain briefly waned. She struggled to stand, and although it felt as though her feet were being bludgeoned, the lapping waves were only past her ankles.

  She splashed through the water, the liquid searing her skin like flaming blades. It was only when she stepped onto the dry rock that she saw why she’d been able to get free.

  Thanatos stood at the edge of the Acheron, his arms extended as if pushing away a foe. In fact, he was. The river and its demons were cleared from her path. He’d used his power to help her.

  She wanted to thank him, but the emotional and physical turmoil had pushed her to her breaking point. As she opened her mouth, she collapsed.

  Bright light cut through the darkness of the motel room. The space between the curtains glowed with the morning sun. Athan rolled over to get out of the blinding sliver and sunk into the middle of the bed. The white sheets smelled of bleach and fabric softener but couldn’t quite hide the mustiness of the old room. Grunting his frustration with the accommodations, he forced himself to sit up.

  “Sleeping Beauty! You finally decide to join us, eh?” Xan sat at a cheap table surrounded by Styrofoam plates filled with motel breakfast foods. He picked up a plastic knife and fork and cut into a waffle the size of the plate.

  Waffles sounded good. Athan stood and took a deep breath. But the stale air let him know the food wasn’t fresh. He frowned, but his stomach didn’t register the same disappointment. He was starving.

  Crossing the room, he grabbed a banana and peeled it. The starchiness was slightly bitter, and the green tinge of the peel was confirmation the fruit was not quite ripe. Not that it really mattered. He needed to eat. He pulled the foil lid from a yogurt and grabbed a white plastic spoon.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked between bites. “Any ideas where we need to be looking?”

  Xan shook his head. “I saw the attorney yesterday. The one Priska used to work for.”

  Athan set the spoon down and stared at Xan. “Yeah?”

  Xan had tracked Priska to an office on Mercer Island back before he’d brought Hope into the conservatory. Back when he thought she was a demigod.

  “He doesn’t know where they went. Said he hasn’t seen Hope for months. And the last time he saw Priska was the same day Hope ran off.” He ran his hand over his face and blew out a deep breath.

  “So nothing?”

  Xan grimaced. “Priska called him a couple of days ago. That’s the last he’s heard.”

  Athan gave a derisive snort. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had nothing. Hades, Xan. What have you been doing, walking up and down the street with fliers? How could you have found nothing in a month?”

  Xan’s eyes turned to ice. “Do you think you could do better?”

  “Well, I don’t see how I could do worse. Where have you looked? Have you thought about calling for help?”

  Xan clenched his jaw. “I scouted out the U-district, Madison Park, First Hill, Magnolia, West Seattle, Mercer Island, Bellevue, and the Eastside. I’ve driven up to Vancouver, BC, and down to Portland, as well as over to Yakima. No one seems to have seen or heard anything unusual, but I haven’t called out the big guns. Think, Athan.”

  Xan didn’t need to say it. Athan understood. If they started asking specific questions, there would be no way to keep Hope’s identity a secret, and neither of them wanted a full-scale man, or rather monster , hunt.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “At this point, I’d love to hear your thoughts.” Xan sounded sincere. “This floundering thing has been pointless. I’m not sure if I should be worried sick or proud of her.”

  “Proud of her?”

  “Yeah.” Xan poured amber-colored syrup over the remains of the waffle. “She’s so incredibly unique she should stand out like a sore thumb, and yet she’s been able to blend seamlessly. How did you ever find her?”

  Athan thought back to their time in Goldendale. “Actually, she kind of fell into my lap.”

  Xan raised his eyebrows.

  Athan chuckled. “Not like that, although, that would have been nice. I was looking for her, the Sphinx, but didn’t even know it was her. I spent countless hours in the mountains, searching for a monster.” He chuckled and touched his cheek. “I even found a few. Did you know there’s a Cyclopes in the Snoqualmie range?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Athan tore the plastic wrap off a fruit pastry and took a bite. “Nope.” He swallowed and set the Danish aside. “I saw a herd of centaurs, too. I actually thought Hope was a demigod. Even tried to get her to a conservatory.” He still wondered what he could’ve done differently, both back in Goldendale and at the conservatory.

  Xan snorted his disbelief.

  “Skia attacked her in Oregon, and I happened to be driving by her house when I noticed her sitting in the car with the lights on. She was in shock. That was the turning point. She let me in after that. But I still didn’t know.”

  “How did you find out?”


  “The same Skia attacked us both. When she could see him, I knew she was a demigod. But we got in a fight, and she took off. I thought she’d come right back, that she needed to cool off. I saw a box with the name Leto on it, and I found a Book of the Fates inside. I was curious, and by morning, when she came back, I knew. It was fine. I didn’t care. But she overheard me and my father talking at Myrine’s house. Something he said must have freaked her out, and she took off. She’s really good at hiding.” Athan picked at the white frosting on the packaged Danish. He was still hungry, but the food was disgusting.

  Xan sat up straight as if he’d been shocked. “Myrine.”

  Athan looked at the door, willing Dahlia to come in. Then maybe they could go get some real food. “Myrine was living in Goldendale. She’s actually the one who alerted me to the Sphinx being in the area.” Of course, Myrine could have told him Hope was the Sphinx. Could have told him a million times. Who knows why she hadn’t? Oracles were so—

  Xan leaned forward and smacked Athan upside the head. “Can you get ahold of Myrine? Can’t she tell you where Hope’s gone?”

  Athan rubbed his temple. “Don’t hit me.”

  Xan frowned. “Can you get in touch with Myrine?” He spoke each word as if talking to a child.

  Athan hated to be patronized. “Maybe. But—”

  Xan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Call her then.”

  Athan pulled his own thin black device from his pocket. “Even if I get ahold of her . . . she may not have anything helpful to say.”

  A knock came at the door, and Xan stood to let Dahlia in.

  The smell of bacon preceded the daughter of Eris into the room. Athan groaned as he tapped on the screen. He stood and reached for the bag Dahlia was carrying, but she refused to relinquish it.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing to the food still on the table. It was practically as full as when Athan had woken up.

  Xan shrugged. “It was all they had in the lobby. I didn’t want to leave Sleeping Beauty unattended.”

  Dahlia snorted. “You couldn’t pay me to eat that rubbish.”

  Xan swept the plates of cold waffles, packaged pastries, and dry toast into the garbage. As soon as there was space on the table, Dahlia set the bag down.

  Athan continued to tap on the screen. If anyone could locate Myrine, it was his father. As messenger to the gods, Hermes had access to some type of divine tracking that worked better than anything the mortals had ever invented. Hopefully, Hermes would be so busy he wouldn’t question why Athan was asking. And if he did, a text was probably the safest way to lie.

  The food smelled amazing, and Athan’s stomach growled a demand for attention. But this was more important, and his father was responding.

  “Got it,” Athan announced a few minutes later. He looked up to see both Xan and Dahlia chewing. Two black plastic containers, shiny with grease, were all that remained on the table. “Come on!” They had eaten everything. Only the scent of bacon remained. “Seriously?”

  Athan collapsed in the chair and glared at the two demigods.

  Xan smirked, and Dahlia’s lip curled.

  “Don’t get your knickers twisted.” She reached into the bag on the floor and pulled out another plastic container, the clear lid revealing pancakes, bacon, and eggs all piled atop each other. “Here’s the syrup.”

  She handed him a small plastic jar, as well as a knife and fork.

  “Did you find her?” Xan asked.

  Athan nodded but said nothing as he scarfed the food almost as fast as the other two demigods had. Only a few minutes later he sat back in his chair, still not full, but definitely feeling better.

  “She’s in Olympia.”

  Dahlia furrowed her brow. “Who’s in Olympia? Hope?”

  “Nah. Myrine is.” Xan shifted in his seat, and the wood creaked with his bulk. “Hopefully, she can tell us where Hope is.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Athan pointed at his phone. “My dad found her.”

  “Why not tell your dad to find Hope?”

  If only it were that easy. “It only works on immortals that are registered.”

  And there was no way Hermes would help Athan with anything that had to do with Hope.

  Dahlia nodded.

  Monsters would never register. Why would they want immortals, gods or demigods, to know their location? Athan wasn’t even sure Hope knew such a thing existed.

  “Should I call her, or do you want to drive down for a visit?” It would only take a couple of hours from where they were on the northern side of the Olympic National Park. Of course, Xan and Athan had both agreed to drive close to Mount Olympus with the thought of hiding right under the noses of the gods. Not that the Mount Olympus in Washington State was the Mount Olympus, but there was a portal there to get to the residence of the gods.

  “Let’s go for a drive. I want to see the whites of her eyes so I know she’s telling the truth.”

  Athan rolled his eyes. “Oracles can’t lie.”

  “Right.” Dahlia dragged the word out, laying it thick with sarcasm. She pursed her full lips as her face scrunched up in what could only be disgust. “They don’t lie, but they can be convincingly misleading. Not to mention vague and ambiguous.”

  Athan wanted to defend Myrine, but Dahlia’s vehemence had him debating if it was worth engaging.

  Before Athan could say anything, Xan put an end to the discussion. Tossing Athan’s empty container in the bag, the demigod son of Ares stood and said, “I want to make sure she’s clear. Whatever it takes to get answers. We need to get Hope back before a Skia, or something worse, finds her.”

  Athan shuddered. There were far too many possibilities in that statement.

  “Do you remember when we went to California?” Xan asked.

  Athan shifted in the leather seat, pulling his gaze away from the window and the inadequate entertainment it provided. The sun was making a valiant effort to burn through the clouds, and as he stared at the back of Xan and Dahlia, the tall evergreens blurred in his peripheral vision.

  Dahlia said nothing.

  “Oh, right,” Xan said with a chuckle. “You were too piss-drunk to remember anything.”

  There was a fair chance Xan was baiting him, or possibly Dahlia. But the last thirty minutes had dragged by mercilessly, so Athan bit. “You went to California? Was that recently?”

  Xan raised his eyebrows as he glanced back in the rearview mirror at Athan. “Aye. Bit of a problem with the Mer. Again.”

  Poseidon was a bit lax on keeping his realm separate from the mortals. Not that it usually caused serious problems.

  “Why’d you get drunk?” Athan asked Dahlia.

  She turned around in her seat to glare at him but said nothing. After a few awkward seconds, she faced forward and stared out the window.

  There was nothing new out there. Not for the next hour. Just the same trees and Olympic Mountains on the horizon.

  “We had to go to Half Moon Bay,” Xan answered.

  Where Dahlia and Roan had been married. Ouch. Athan thought of all the times he’d wanted to escape reality after Isabel died. He’d avoided every single place they’d ever been, or at least as much as possible. It was what had eventually driven him to go to Africa.

  “She was super fun,” Xan continued, pushing on regardless of his cousin’s discomfort. “Like that time you got drunk in Mexico.”

  Athan choked and then chuckled. Vague memories of him and Xan drinking something foul in a dingy bar flitted through his mind. Xan had convinced him to sing karaoke. As the son of Hermes, Athan was quite capable of singing. But then Xan had sung an Irish song about lasses and ladies, and wasn’t there a ballad to Dionysus?

  “You two were idiots,” Dahlia muttered. “I thought you were going to get yourselves killed.”

  Not likely. The only occupants had been mortal, so they weren’t in any real danger. But now that she mentioned it, Athan did
remember a brawl.

  “You were a terrible fighter then,” Xan said with a low chuckle. “I had to pull that lumberjack off you.”

  Athan struggled to remember, but time, and probably the liquor, had made the memories hazy. “There was a lumberjack?”

  “And that girl making calf-eyes at you. I think she snuck you drink after drink in hopes that you would take her with you.”

  He definitely didn’t remember a girl. “What girl?”

  “Not surprised you don’t remember her. I don’t think you ever really saw her.” Xan smirked in the rearview mirror.

  Dahlia’s throaty chuckle was filled with dark mirth. “You have a habit of not seeing people. That’s part of what gets you into trouble.”

  The comment stung. Mostly because Athan could see the truth in it.

  “But then Xan sees the people and still doesn’t care a whit, so there may be some hope for you.”

  “That’s not true,” Xan protested. “I care . . .” He stopped as if considering his next words. He cleared his throat, and without any defensiveness admitted, “No. You’re right. I don’t. But that’s because people are idiots.”

  Dahlia raised her hand in a palm-up acknowledgment. “Like I said.”

  “Didn’t you have to bail him out?” Athan asked Dahlia. “That night in Mexico . . . ?”

  Had it been three years ago? No, it was more than four years now. Right after that, Athan had left for Nairobi.

  Xan laughed. “And she lectured me the entire way back to the conservatory.”

  “Wanker,” Dahlia said, but her smile reflected in the mirror.

  “Aye. A real tosser. Can’t be helped.” Xan winked at his cousin.

  Three hours later, Xan pulled up to a small white house with beige shutters. After turning the car off, he faced Athan. “You’re sure this is it?”

  Athan looked at the immaculate yard. Granted, it wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp, but the grass was thick, green, and freshly cut. The walkway to the door was lined with vibrant shrubs trimmed into a knee-high hedge. The door was painted a robin’s-egg blue, and a rocking chair sat on the clean porch with a small end table in a matching dark stain.