The Immortals (26 page)

Unfortunately, a broken bow and wooden arrows couldn’t help her—only a divine weapon could stop Apollo. And if she could find one—and that was a big
if
—she’d need to be strong
enough to wield it. She glanced beneath her jacket once more. The bloodstain covering the left side of her shirt had dried to rust. She peeled the shirt up gingerly, wincing as the fabric stuck to the torn flesh of the still-angry wound. There was only one way to heal it completely.

But first she would wait for Theo.

The moment after he’d struck her assailant hung in her mind, bright and sharp. The hard grip of his fingers on her arms, the rippling beat of his heart against hers as he moved to shield her from harm. His own fear supplanted by his concern for her. And his eyes, brilliant in the light from a waving flashlight. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized they were the bright green of new-sprung leaves.

At the concourse-level food court, Theo sat huddled under a foil blanket like an earthquake survivor. He was in shock, so the EMT had said, but otherwise only bruised. He stared blindly at the coffee list behind the Starbucks counter, but all he could think of was the blood caking his hands.

“Mr. Schultz.” A wiry older woman took a seat across the table. “Or should I say Professor? What’s more appropriate?”

He remembered the lady captain from the hospital crime scene. “I think the finer points of etiquette died about when Helen did. How about just Theo?”

“I’m Captain Hansen from the Counterterrorism Division. And I think you know Detective Brandman.” She gestured over Theo’s shoulder.

His least favorite cop stood just behind him.
Hovering like a vulture,
Theo couldn’t help thinking.

“Since he’s been your primary contact with the department so far, I’ve asked him to join us.” She motioned Brandman to sit.

“How’re you feeling?” the captain asked Theo. “You’ve had quite a night.”

“I seem to be making a habit of it.”

The woman smiled briefly. “You’ve bitten off a bit more than you can chew, no?”

Theo looked again at the blood caking his hands. “Yes, I suppose,” he responded mechanically.
But I’m still alive. And I’m still one step ahead of Brandman, so I’m not doing so bad.

“You like playing the hero, it would seem,” she said, not unkindly. “The other woman at the scene reported that you saved her life and that you tried to save Jenny Thomason.”

“The other woman? You mean—” He stopped himself, remembering Selene’s warning. “The one who tried to take out five armed men all by herself?”

“Yes. She spoke very highly of your actions. May I ask how you wound up here? You told Detective Brandman that the killer would attack a cemetery next.”

Theo explained that there had once been a burial ground beneath the Waldorf. Hansen’s eyes widened. She called over another officer and gave instructions to investigate the old train platform. Then Theo went on, explaining about the
Pompe
ritual and how he’d known to look for a public display of lewd jokes. His story didn’t make complete sense without admitting Selene’s part in it, and he felt bad claiming all the credit when she’d found the cemetery, but his weariness precluded any clever lies.

“One of the stagehands said she overheard the men saying that if they got separated, they’d meet up tomorrow, ‘somewhere the masks would be more appropriate.’ Any idea what that could mean?”

“The masks… huh. Well, they’re copies of ancient theatrical comedy masks. Chorus members in Athenian plays wore large wooden masks to make their voices resonate—not only for the audience, but within their own heads as well. It let them submerge themselves in the character. I had a roommate back in
grad school at Harvard who had a reproduction mask that he’d picked up on a trip to Greece. He used to wear it around at parties. He was… let’s just say he was eccentric. But I tried it once, and it works. You feel like you’re inside your own mind, even as your voice is projected outward. The cult initiates are probably doing the same thing, subsuming themselves within the ritual.”

Brandman snorted. “Or they just don’t want to be recognized.”

Theo went on as if he hadn’t heard. “To the Greeks, plays were more than entertainment—they were sacred rites to honor Dionysus and Apollo. So the masks aren’t appropriate for a place like this.” He forgot his aching body as he considered this new piece of evidence. “Normally, tomorrow night’s
Pannychis
would take place in a field near a ‘well of beautiful dances,’ but I wouldn’t be surprised if they used a theater instead. That way, they can incorporate Dionysus, the God of Wine and Theater, who was worshiped along with the other Eleusinian deities. I gave Detective Brandman an outline of the Eleusinian Mysteries if you want to see it.”

“I’ve been pursuing Mr. Schultz’s leads, ma’am,” Brandman said tightly. “The cemetery tip he gave us, as you can see, was a dead end, but somehow
he
still managed to be in the right place at the right time. This time, he even beat the cops here. A bit suspicious, in my book.”

“Any more suspicious than you leaking my name to the press?” Theo flared.

Brandman pointed a stubby finger at Theo’s chest. “I did no such thing. Do
not
accuse me of breaking protocol.” His eyes darted to the captain, whose icy stare rivaled Selene’s. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the professor himself tried to convince some reporter of his crazy theories and it backfired on him.”

“Crazy theories?”
Theo spluttered. “Are you mad? Didn’t you see the video of the killing, Detective? That was Ancient Greek
they were speaking. A goddamn human sacrifice on network TV. And I’m the one who had to hold the woman in my arms while she died.” Theo clenched his hands together to stop their trembling. “I warned you they’d kill again.”

Brandman leaned forward, his face inches from Theo’s. “Don’t you dare try to blame this on me.”

“Detective!” Hansen barked. Brandman sat back, but from the furious look on his face, Theo could tell he didn’t appreciate being silenced—especially by a woman. “Do you have any evidence,
any evidence whatsoever
, that points to Professor Schultz’s involvement?”

“The professors in his department have all testified to his emotional instability after Helen Emerson left him and to his continued erratic, sometimes violent behavior.”

“My
what
?”

“And
I
can certainly testify that he led the police on a goddamn wild-goose chase tonight while the murderers struck again. Half the police force was standing around guarding a bunch of corpses while a real crime was taking place on the other side of town. Just put the pieces together!”

“I thought you built a case on
facts
, Detective,” Theo said, trying to sound as calmly furious as Selene would have. “Isn’t that what you told me once?”

Brandman glowered at him. “Who better than a classics expert to dress it all up in Greek?”

Theo laughed loudly. “Well, you’ve got the wrong classicist. But if you’re going to arrest me, just get it over with.”

“We’re not going to arrest you, Professor Schultz,” Hansen interposed calmly. Theo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “At least,” she added with a tight smile, “not at this juncture. And we will certainly pursue the possibility that a theater will be involved next.” She turned to Brandman, who tugged at his mustache with undisguised agitation. “As of right now, Counterterrorism is taking lead on the investigation into
the Emerson, Mehra, and Thomason murders. Your assistance will be invaluable, Detective, but I need you putting your energy toward capturing the men who are terrorizing our city, not the man who almost stopped them.”

The detective opened his mouth to protest, but Hansen raised her hand for silence. “Sometimes the cops, even the best-intentioned ones, get it wrong. That’s something I was recently reminded of. And I don’t intend to forget it again anytime soon.”

The cops led Theo out a side exit to avoid the swarms of reporters hovering around the building’s main entrance. They released him at Sixth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street and advised him to go home and get some rest. Keeping his head down, he walked obediently toward the subway, but then stopped at the entrance. Somehow, he couldn’t bear to be underground right now. He walked instead toward the illuminated red steps in the middle of Broadway, seeking somewhere to rest.

Even at four in the morning, a few tourists stood on the freestanding staircase, gazing at the carnival of Times Square spread out around them. Theo collapsed at the top of the stairs and leaned his head back toward the night sky. The last few hours had been like something out of a nightmare. He didn’t know where Selene was; maybe she’d simply disappeared again. Nothing about her made sense.
First, she carries around a bow and arrows like she’s some comic book superhero. Then she nearly runs out on Jenny Thomason instead of trying to save her life. Finally, she asks me to lie to the police about knowing her—which, although I can’t really explain why, I did. I’d be better off never seeing her again,
he reasoned.

Yet when a woman’s low voice called his name, his eyes flew open and his pulse raced in anticipation.
So much for wanting to be rid of her.

“So.” Selene stood on the step below him, her arms folded and her backpack held loosely at her side. “They let you go.”

He blinked at her. The EMTs had bandaged the arrow wound on her throat, but blood and grease still streaked her face.

“Just. They had a lot of questions.” He tried to feign alertness but wound up slumping farther down on the stairs.

“At least they didn’t arrest you again.”

“Whatever you told Captain Hansen seemed to have convinced her I’m not a threat. So I owe you for that.”

She sat down beside him on the glowing step. The red light from below flushed her pale cheeks with color. Despite the foot of space between them, he couldn’t help remembering what she’d felt like in his arms. He fought a sudden desire to feel that way again.

“The captain seems smart,” he offered. “And not just because she thinks I’m innocent. I’ve got a good feeling about her.”

Selene merely nodded.

“You really don’t like cops, do you? That’s why you didn’t tell them you were a private investigator.”

She shrugged.

“You’re not really an official PI, are you?” he asked gently.

After a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t have a license. But women come to me. I try to help them.”

Theo’s imagination churned. She must have been the victim of abuse at some point. That would explain why she spent her time tracking men, why she seemed so vulnerable yet so impenetrable, why she didn’t believe the cops could be trusted—even why she told the Persephone abduction tale with such passion. Suddenly, her behavior didn’t seem so crazy. “I didn’t tell them anything about you… or us.”

“Good. I have a history in this town,” she said. “I sort of like to stay off the grid.”

“What happened?” He had to ask, although he suspected the conversational topic was off limits.

Selene remained silent for a long moment, but then, to Theo’s surprise, she began to tell him. “There was once a policewoman with the NYPD who was so good that other women clamored to join just to be like her. On her first street patrol, she chased down two bank robbers, leaving her fellow officers in the dust. Tackled them both simultaneously, handcuffed one, and knocked the other unconscious. Then, after a year, they decided to pair her with a male partner. Charles Augustino. Chaz.” She wrinkled her nose. “First day out, they responded to an assault call in Hell’s Kitchen not far from here—a prostitute and her john having it out on the street corner. She insisted she’d been underpaid. The john swore up and down he’d never slept with her in the first place, that he was the victim of extortion. Each claimed the other had struck the first blow. Woman had a black eye and a bloody lip. Chaz handcuffed her anyway.”

“For what?”

“Prostitution’s illegal, even though most cops don’t bother arresting the women. But Chaz pushed the prostitute up against his cruiser. The policewoman saw his hand linger between the prostitute’s legs and then he grabbed her ass. When the woman spit in his face, Chaz slapped her, hard, and she collapsed onto the roof. So the policewoman pinned her partner to the ground and twisted his arms around her baton. She told him to apologize to the woman, and he refused. So she turned him around, stood him up, and broke his jaw with her fist.”

“She sounds like a hero.”

Selene shrugged. “As he fell, he hit his head on the car’s fender. She hadn’t meant to kill him. But she wasn’t sorry she had.”

Theo let out a low whistle.

“By the week’s end, she’d been discharged from the force and indicted on charges of second-degree murder. But she disappeared before they could catch her.”

“And this policewoman was…”
You,
Theo thought.
Go on, admit it.

Selene met his eyes. She paused for a moment, as if deciding how to answer. “Cynthia Forrester.”

“I see.” “DiSilva” was simply the Italian version of “Forrester”—they both meant “of the forest”—and the name “Cynthia” was, like “Selene,” an epithet of the Greek Moon Goddess. If she’d gone through the trouble of changing her name, her story was even more complicated than Theo’d imagined. “When was this?”

She looked away again. “Nineteen seventy-three.”

“Oh” was all Theo could say. What he’d taken to be a confession now seemed like a lie. He’d been sure Selene was the policewoman in the story, but if she’d been a cop in 1973, she’d be over sixty by now. Impossible. Once again, just when he thought he’d begun to understand her, she defied comprehension.
Maybe someday I’ll crack the mystery,
he thought, stealing a glance at her profile. Despite the bandages, she looked even younger than usual. As if the night’s tragedy, which made Theo feel very old indeed, had only rejuvenated her.

“Now you see why I don’t trust men,” she said. “Or cops.”

You can trust me, you know,
he wanted to say. But for once, he held his tongue.

They sat silently for a moment more, gazing down Broadway. The giant LED screen above the ABC Studios at Forty-fourth Street streamed breaking news footage of Jenny Thomason’s murder. Suddenly, the image of a dour man with messy fair hair and round glasses flashed across the screen. It took him a moment to recognize his driver’s license photo. He realized sitting in the most public place in the city was monumentally stupid. Only dumb luck and dim lighting had prevented anyone from noticing the “Pervy Professor.” But he feared that if he moved, Selene would disappear. So he sat there, his hand inches away from hers. Usually, he could feel a chill emanating from her flesh. But tonight, he felt warmth.

He almost jumped when her hand slid into his.

“You saved my life, you know.” She stared at the ABC news footage, not meeting his eyes. “So much for not taking needless physical risks.”

“Uh—I just—” he began. But then he stopped.
I guess I did.
“It wasn’t exactly ‘needless.’”

She tightened her grip. “You said yesterday that if we were being attacked, you’d run away.”

“If
I
were being attacked, I’d run,” he said with a laugh. “But if
you
were…” He felt the smile fall from his face.

At last, she turned toward him. For an instant, their eyes met. Then she pulled her hand from his and looked away.
Here it comes. She’s about to walk away again.

But she didn’t. She just flared her nostrils and said, “Your clothes are covered in blood.”

“So are yours.” Her jacket had fallen open. “Holy shit, are you wounded?”

“It’s not my blood,” she said quickly, pulling her jacket closed again. He heard an unaccustomed tremble in her voice.

“Here.” He shrugged out of his overcoat. “You must be cold.” To his surprise, she accepted it. It was too big in the shoulders. He smiled. “You look like a little girl playing dress-up in your mom’s closet.” She drew a sharp breath.
Christ, I’ve said something stupid. She probably has issues with her mother.
Sure enough, she rose and started down the staircase.

“You can’t just leave in my coat, you know,” he called after her.

She paused for a moment, her back to him. “Then come with me.”

Theo hesitated. If he obeyed, there’d be no denying to himself that he wanted something more from this strange woman than just help tracking down Helen’s killer. Gabriela would tell him not to be an idiot—Selene was dangerous. He’d almost definitely get his heart broken. More to the point, if today’s activities were any indication, he might get himself killed. But somehow,
he still ached to follow her. Theo remembered his fear with Helen—he’d worried that she would cling too tight, demand too much. But despite the challenges she posed, Helen hadn’t shaken his own understanding of himself and the world—she’d only reinforced it. Her unquestioning adoration made him feel strong and smart. Selene, on the other hand, often made him feel weak and awkward. Yet on some level he welcomed those feelings of inadequacy: They pushed him to try harder, reach further, risk more. And that meant he wound up feeling stronger and smarter after all. Being with Selene wasn’t scary—it was downright terrifying. Not to mention intoxicating and exhausting. Yet he didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

Theo levered himself off the stairs and fell into step beside her.
Taking needless risks seems to be par for the course these days,
he reasoned.
Why stop now?