Curse of the Sphinx (27 page)

Life wasn’t meant to be lived in perfect safety. Living was all about risks, love, loss, joy, pain, sorrow, and triumph. Hiding was a shallow existence, it wasn’t living. And now that she knew it, Hope wasn’t going to stop living.

“DAD, YOU’RE ASKING
the impossible.” Athan shifted from foot to foot. “You want me to find one person out of millions.”

Hermes lifted his eyebrows. “It’s your specialty. Finding people.” He frowned. “And, if you haven’t found the Sphinx, then why are you still in this little town?”

Athan blushed, and, for the first time in his life, he was at a loss for words.

“Well, well. What did you find? Are you in love, my son?” Hermes laughed and clapped him on the back. “Love is a grand thing, to be celebrated for sure.” He draped his coat over the back of the upholstered chair, and faced his son. “You must tell me all about her, but first let’s talk about the Sphinx. There is word on Olympus that Apollo’s sons are hunting the monster.”

Apollo’s sons? Could he never catch a break? “What will you do with her? When I find her?”

“If Apollo wants his monster, surely he will bargain for it.”

“You would hold her for ransom? Dangle her like bait?” Athan clenched his jaw. Was his dad always this calloused?

“It almost sounds like you care, son.”

The door slammed.

“Athan?” Myrine’s muffled voice came from down the hall.

“Be there in a minute,” he called back. He had to get his father out of here before Hope arrived. He looked at his watch.

Hermes snorted. “How do you stand living with her? The visions must have driven her crazy by now.”

Athan nodded, thinking of the oracle. “She’s not lucid very much, but she’s hardly dangerous.” And she was usually spot on, if you understood her.

The sound of crashing pans echoed from the kitchen, and Athan winced.

Hermes sat and put his head in his hands. “Athan. I need to you to find the monster. Your love . . . she’ll understand.”

Athan faced his father. “I can’t do what you’re asking me. I . . . I don’t want to hunt down the Sphinx.”

Hermes looked up and frowned. “You are the best, and I need this.” He stared at Athan, probing. “Have you already found it?”

Athan willed his face blank, and shook his head.

Hermes sucked in his breath. “You would lie . . . to me?” He stared at Athan, and his gaze seemed to pierce Athan’s mind. His jaw dropped. “You fell in love with her?” he whispered.

Silence descended.

There was nothing Athan could say.

Hermes sat back in the chair and exhaled long and slow. “How long?”

Athan collapsed into the other chair. “A month.” He offered a wan smile.

Hermes shook his head. “You do not know . . . Apollo will never let you have her.”

Just his name set Athan on edge. “Why would he get to decide? Has he not done enough?” It was bad enough that Hope was cursed to be a monster. But to not let her love who she wanted?

The floorboards creaked and both men stood as footsteps approached the door.

Hermes leaned forward. “Apollo will kill you,” he seethed. “The curse is to ensure that he gets the Sphinx, and no one else. If he even finds out you are courting her, he will kill you.” Hermes stood and grabbed his coat. “You need to break it off, son. Now. End it. Please. Understand, I would not lose you, too.”

“Dad—”

Both men heard the gasp on the other side of the door, and then the rapid retreat of footsteps.

Hermes frowned.

The front door slammed again, and Athan felt fear roil through him. He stood and looked out the window.

It wasn’t Myrine’s car in the driveway. Myrine hadn’t come home.

Hope’s green Civic was pulling out of the driveway like a bat out of Hades.

Skata.

GLASS SHATTERED, FOLLOWED
by a
thud
. In one fluid movement, Athan slid his hands under the pillow, grabbed the matching silver blades, and sat up. The thin sheet fell from his shoulders, and he shifted to the edge of the bed.

The night was dark and thick with humidity. The ceiling fan continued to whir despite the escalating tension in the small motel room. Through the broken window, the sour stench of rotten humanity wafted from the street. Athan waited to hear what, if anything, else was coming.

He’d been following a lead, a mere rumor from an acquaintance of a friend. The message came via text a week ago and spoke of a golden girl at Athena High in Seattle. Thought to be a demigod, the girl didn’t blend in with the rest of the senior class and made no attempt to. By the time he’d arrived, the mysterious girl had disappeared. Vanished. No forwarding address. No next of kin listed on the records, no emergency contact. Just gone. The apartment was vacant despite the rent being paid through the end of the six-month lease. Even more frustrating, the girl had withdrawn from school weeks ago. Any trail she’d left was now cold. Bitterly so.

Desperation made a foolish companion, and he wore his recklessness like a heavy cord, tangling his intuition and instinct into a messy knot. Regardless, he’d spent the next several days talking to students, searching popular hangouts, even going so far as to call the conservatory. Unfortunately, he’d gotten voicemail. Not too surprising. Most demigods carried their own cell phones. It was rare to use the conservatory’s line, and even more rare for someone to call it. Perhaps it would be worth a brief visit to see if there was any news of Hope, or rather the Sphinx. The thought of a visit to the demigod residence made his stomach roll. But if it led to finding Hope, it would be worth it.

No sound came from the small sitting room on the other side of the bedroom door. If there were visitors, they weren’t human. He stood and crossed the room.

As he reached for the handle, the door crashed open, and a thick, pale hand grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip.

Athan ducked as black steel swept over his head. He tilted away from the hulking figure and kicked his heel into the Skia’s stomach. The soft give told him he’d missed the ribs. Not that the dead needed to breathe, but a punctured lung might’ve slowed the monster down.

Crouching low, he swung his leg close to the ground in a smooth arc. The minion from Hades deftly anticipated the move and closed the gap with a knee to Athan’s face. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and warm blood ran down his chin. He spit a mixture of saliva and blood and then swung his jeweled dagger at the Skia restraining him.

Before he could connect, his wrist was released and he received an upper cut to his solar plexus. The air rushed from his lungs as he fell backward into the coffee table. The cheap furniture splintered to the ground.

He rolled to the side, onto his hands and knees, allowing one gasping breath before forcing himself to his feet. The small amount of light coming in through the window was enough to confirm what he’d suspected. Pallid skin, onyx eyes, the telltale leer. Minion of Hades. Zeus Almighty! Would he never catch a break?

He wiped the blood from his chin and faced the Skia. “You know I’m going to send you right back to Hell.”

The only response was a wheezing crackle.

They circled the debris, measuring each other, anticipating the first move that would begin the dance of death.

Athan kicked a piece of the broken table at the Skia, but the monster deftly skirted away. He kicked another and another, and the creature slapped each down before it made contact with his body.

This was not going to be easy. The man was tall, taller than Athan, which would affect his reach, and judging from the two blows he’d taken, the demon knew how to fight and he was strong.

He weighed his daggers, wishing for a distraction.

A heavy thumping sounded through the thin ceiling.

“Hey! Keep it down!” The deep male voice from above was loud and angry.

The Skia’s head tilted up.

Athan threw the dagger in his left hand. Anticipating that the Skia would move left, he spun that way and hooked his leg hard, catching the moving figure in the crook of his knee. Both of them crashed to the ground. The Skia swung his black knife, and Athan felt the pressure of the deadly blade on his leg. Gasping, he lurched up, drove his blade deep into the Skia’s chest, and rolled away. Bright light pulsed from the wound. Then the Skia began to hiss and fade.

“
Skata.
” Athan pulled his leg close. His pajama bottoms were ripped where the Skia had tried to slice him, but the skin was unbroken. He exhaled his relief and tension all in one breath. That had been close. Too close.

He staggered to his feet and picked up the knife from the carpet where the Skia’s body had dissolved. A few more steps and he retrieved the second blade from the kitchen where it was lodged in the wall. The adrenaline coursing throughout the fight began to wane, and his body shook.

No time for a meltdown. He had to leave. He grabbed his duffle bag and threw his clothes and toiletries inside it. He slipped his shoes on, not bothering to tie them. No time. Opening the door into the dingy hall, he spotted a heavyset man with a red face headed his way. Athan backed into his room and locked the door, hoping to delay the man long enough to get away. Crossing the room to the broken window, he acknowledged his luck at being on the ground floor. Using the curtain, he pushed the broken glass away from the sill.

A heavy pounding came from the front of the motel room. He yanked the window open and pushed out the screen. The angry beating urged him to hurry. The splintering of wood announced his human visitor right as Athan dropped the duffle to the dirt. Another second later, he pulled his body through the cramped opening. As soon as his feet hit solid ground, he ran toward his car on the other side of the lot, pushing the key fob to unlock and start the car. He needed to be gone.

He slid into the driver’s seat and put the car in gear. As Athan merged onto the street, the sounds of sirens drew closer. He cursed his own stupidity. So focused on looking for Hope, he’d left a trail a mile long and a mile wide. It was a wonder Skia hadn’t attacked sooner.

The ringing from the console pulled him from his morbid thoughts.

“Athan Michael.”

“It’s Peter Stanley.” The butcher Hope had befriended in Goldendale, the one that just happened to be a demigod son of Hephaestus.

“Peter. Nice of you to call.” Athan couldn’t help the sarcasm leaking into his voice. “And at three in the morning. What’s got you up at this fine hour?”

“Oh, did I wake you?” He knew he hadn’t. It was clear in the mocking tone of his voice.

Athan sighed. His frustration wasn’t with the butcher. No sense in taking it out on him. “No. Sorry, rough night.” He released a long breath. “What’s up? Everything okay there in Goldendale? Have you heard from our friend?”

“You’re not so charming that I’m calling just to chat.”

Athan snorted. “I’m well aware.”

“She and Haley just talked. She’s still in Seattle.”

It was something. “Did she mention where? I’ve been in Seattle for a couple months, and the closest thread I’ve picked up was a week old.”

“Sorry, no. But she did say she’d met someone that knew me.” A heavy pause. “And you. Do you think she could be at the conservatory? They have someone new. Thenia called and asked for a phone chip a couple weeks ago,” Hephaestus’s son whispered.

It better not be Hope. The demigods would crucify her if they discovered her true nature. Priska would know better. She wouldn’t let her. Hope couldn’t be so stupid. “No.”

“If the other demigods found her, wouldn’t they take her? It makes sense. And it would be safe for her there.”

Of course it made sense.
Until you knew what she really was
! “Um, yeah. Right. I’ll check it out in the morning.”

“You could go now and find out.”

Athan glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. His lip was busted, and his eye was puffy and purple. His chest was covered in his own sticky blood, and his plaid flannel pajama pants were ripped and stained. There was no way he was going right now.

“I need to clean up first and maybe grab a few hours of sleep.” He paused but couldn’t think of a reason not to tell the other demigod. “Skia attacked, and I’m a bloody mess.”

Peter laughed, as if Athan had shared a joke. “Well, you’d best get yourself all spiffed up then. After all, you never get a second chance to make a first impression, or, in this case, a first
second
impression.” He chuckled again. “Good luck, son of Hermes”

Without a goodbye, the line went dead.

Athan thought about his options, but this was the best lead he had. And hopefully,
hopefully
, Xan wouldn’t be there.