The group dashed out of the motel room and into the dark, unforgiving night. The moon was at full height, bathing the ground in a silvery light; the stars were out in force, though with the nearby freeway and it’s artificial lighting, the brilliant beauty of the celestial bodies was greatly diminished. James turned to face Eliza and Oliver and told them, “Position here and watch our backs.” At the onset of additional spine-tingling howls, Oliver clenched his jaw and a hint of anger flashed in his cool gray eyes. The Brit nodded once. James moved his eyes away from the pair lest his emotions for Eliza overwhelm him. He needed to remain clearheaded in order to protect them all. Swiftly, he searched the area and decided on the best possibility for a battle ground. In between where they currently stood and the interstate in the distance, there was a large open field with low level grasses. The earth seemed to be sandy and it was even somewhat lit from the lights on the freeway. Jame
James sat wearily to the bed that would be his in the room. He was trying his best not to relive the past 12 hours, because they weren’t exactly the best of his life. Not but an hour after they had gotten on the road, Romero had called Blakeney and had given him the bad news: Landen Miller and his entire family had been killed sometime around midnight. A piece of his heart had felt as if it had been ripped out because not only had they failed to get there in time to prevent the deaths of innocents, but they had lost yet another prospect for the last element. The task or mission—or whatever you would call it—was starting to shape up to be impossible. It was as if no matter when they left or how hard they tried, they were always a step behind the enemy. He didn’t know what else they could do different, but he did know that if he continued to obsess over the possibilities, he would probably have a mental breakdown. He would have to be patient and when the opportunity came, they would str
For the rest of the day, James had followed Tres’s family around. Not always necessarily because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to go sit in his room by himself. They had eaten dinner together—Adonis joining them father-free—and now he and Tres were just getting things ready for tomorrow. Well, he was anyway. Tres had brought an updated, upgraded version of his computer system, Alexandra, and was rewiring the room in order to do a new integration. Spare wires were hanging from the ceiling and a huge hole had been cut into the wall behind Tres’s desk. His friend was hard at work when a knock came from their door. Tres immediately froze in midtinker and the two of them listened hard. A soft click sounded and Blakeney stuck his head in. “May I come in?” Tres’s face showed shock and panic. His eyes flitted around the room but seeing as there was no way to hide the mess, he dropped his head. James pinched off a laugh. “Sure, Mr. Blakeney.” “James, I wanted to speak with
“Good morning, class,” intoned Blakeney as he strode regally through the door. “Morning, Mr. Blakeney,” the class replied in almost perfect uni-son. The older man deposited an expensive-looking briefcase on a large, glistening wooden desk and turned his full attention on them. “You have all chosen to take International Political Studies this year and as it is a career specific course, it’s important that you always do your very best. Throughout this year we will be looking at the various political decisions of the past 250 years which have helped shape our world into the model we see today. Though there will be tests and several written assignments,” he said before pressing on reassuringly, seeing the panicked faces, “the bulk of your grade will come from the discussions we will often partake in. Do not fret because it is not the shape of your opinion that matters, but your involvement. As is always the case with the nature of our topics, the arguments will sometimes be hea
The rest of the week passed with little to no fanfare. If James was honest with himself, he’d admit how easy it would be to get wrapped up in the repetition and comfort of simplicity of all of this and forget—or at least displace to the back-burner—the looming darkness hanging over everyone. Though not everyone knew about the storm that was brewing, coming it was, nonetheless. In between school, Eliza, and friends, James had had little time for thought of any missions or training or whatever. He found himself getting distracted more and more often as the week had progressed. Case-in-point: Ricky Collins had been hounding him incessantly about going out for the wrestling team. Apparently, his new body structure was easily noticeable even though he had always had a bit of an athletic build. Regardless, the attention drawn from his new look was a little embarrassing and he wouldn’t be caught dead in any kind of spandex. No, thank you. The week had turned out pretty good and with the w
Before she could formulate a response, Blakeney took hold of a pair of scissors from the nearby shelving and cut the wrapping free. The depth and seriousness of the injuries caused everyone in the room to gasp with fright. The intake of breath ascended into a palpable silence which seemed to invade every molecule of the atmosphere in the room. “My . . . god,” muttered Blakeney like he was afraid to break the stillness. The stitched gashes were the exact opposite of healing: the jag-ged openings were purple, red, and yellow—completely inflamed; the stitch-work looked to be tearing at the seams; the veins in the immediate vicinity were the color of the inkiest black. Eliza’s sobs shattered the silence into a thousand shards of bro-ken glass. “But . . . b-but . . . how?” She barely managed to get the words out through her rasping, labored breaths. “Robert, this is far worse than any blood poisoning I have ever seen?” Dr. Gomez commented softly. He swallowed n
She made her way purposefully toward the inner sanctum of the temple. Passing nooks, carvings, and paintings pasted onto the walls, she stepped between two fat pillars. The massive statue of Zeus loomed before her. Eliza had only ever been here with James and not the cold, emptiness made her feel lonelier than ever. She shivered at the thought and crossed her arms as if she were hugging herself. Almost hesitantly she moved her hazel-green eyes up the statue until they rested on the marble orbs in likeness of the king of the gods. Eliza swallowed back both pride and nerves. “I’ve never . . . done this before,” she admitted softly. Her voice echoed like a tinkling bell off the hard surfaces of the sanctuary. She chuckled nervously and pressed on. “I don’t even really know what to do.” In spite of everything, she gave a half smile. “I guess James being your son makes it a little easier for him to talk to you. Or . . . pray to you.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I know you’re
Eliza’s mouth dropped open from shock. Her eyes went wide and she barely blinked. You know it’s funny, being an intelligent person, Eliza should naturally have been spectacle, but there was something ingrained deep within—or maybe hard-wired in her brain—that told her the being before her was divine. “I can see it in the changes of your eyes, Eliza, that you believe me. Good. I would have to have to waste valuable time in demonstrations of truth. And in case you were wondering how it is you . . . feel who I am,” Apollo continued on, “it is my blood in your veins which recognizes me.” She closed her mouth and nodded. “W-wh . . .why?” Eliza asked, then gulped. “How?” Apollo grinned crookedly. “My father sent me. In his nature he is just and because of that, he is still doing his best to not get involved personally. Believe me, many of us are anxious to get in the fight in lieu of Hades’ actions. But nevertheless, we are restrained and restricted to small and indirect interv
James sighed; frustration, reluctance, and pain closed themselves across his features. He searched for Eliza and found her. She was speaking with Tres and his family. Almost as if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned and smiled widely at him. “I understand that you do not want to leave her, James. You love her more than anything and yearn to be near her.” Zeus squeezed his shoulder to recapture his attention. “The choice, of course, is yours. I will never take away your free will. But know this, if you choose to stay, yes, you will be with your loved ones. However, it is almost certain then that you would lose this war. As I told you before, sometimes we have to leave the ones we love in order to protect them, even if our absence is only for a season. I can show you how to unlock the abilities which lie dormant within you and give you a chance to save those you love. More than anything, I wish for you to never feel pain again, but I’m afraid my children cannot always travel th
At that, James and Eliza stood to lead the procession of surviving students. With a single white rose in each of their hands, the just over three-hundred walked down the aisles and passed before the table which held the framed pictures of the victims. Some wept, some simply said goodbye and moved on, but each of them laid their rose to rest in front of their fallen friends. It was significant of a promise to be kept: A promise to always remember their friends and classmates, a promise to never forget, and a promise that those who died would be carried in the hearts of the survivors for as long as they live. The last mourning student placed her rose on the cold earth, a tear falling from her cheeks and splashing onto the laid flowers, and the gathered assembly stood to move amongst each other. As everyone else began to comfort and converse with those they knew, James remained seated, his eyes searching the faces framed before him. He found the picture of Adonis and lifted on corner of
James studied his appearance in the mirror and absentmindedly fixed his tie. He wore a black, custom tailored suit which Eliza’s father had purchased for him for the occasion. A white dress shirt, black tie, and black wingtips completed the ensemble-mourning clothes. He had been breathing a little easier ever since he and Eliza and the others had finished their goodbyes to their friends, but when he was alone, as he was now, the pressure in his chest returned. It felt as if a weight was pressing down on his heart; threatening to squeeze the life out of him. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and slow, and willed the pain to subside to an acceptable level. In just a short while, Bill Masters would speak on the events which had occurred earlier in the week- the cover story having been a last time. Though he knew with the passage of time the weight of grief would sail away like a ship on the ocean, the loss of so many lives would never truly leave him. With everything that is within him
“I know that we’re all in a lot of pain right now, but we don’t know how long this period of inaction on the part of our enemies will last,” said James, eyeing each of the faces gathered in the room. “The task ahead of us won’t be easy, but I’ve had people die in my arms and I don’t want that to happen again.” “What are you saying, James?” Bill interrupted, wanting clarification. He glanced around the room again. “I’m saying it’s time to fight. I’m saying the time for secrecy among us is over. We need to gather everyone together that can fight and train them to go to war. Mr. Blakeney once told me that during the World Wars there were thousands of swords, shields, armor, spears, and arrows made from metal mined from Olympus and forged by Hephaestus and his workers.” His eyes seemed to harden with resolve as if they were marbles. “We need to find this cache and build an army. Never again will we be caught unprepared, not ready.” James elevated his voice as he spoke. “It’s time to ta
The past few days had been filled with alternating times of mourning and grief followed by periods of clarity and resolve. He and Eliza had spent much of the time on horseback or on foot meandering through her family’s vast estate. Being together and out in the cold, open environment, had allowed each of them to process their emotions and grieve properly for the fallen director. Robert Blakeney had been particularly special to them. Having spent the entire summer together and going out on numerous missions since, they had continued to grow closer. An unbreakable bond had been forged. Or so they thought. Everyone had been completely blindsided by Clurife’s attack and the betrayal of Oliver, but James was giving himself no room for excuses. It was outright stupidity to believe they were safe at the Academy. He, Eliza, and Blakeney had known someone was giving Clurife information and it was only a matter of time before the school itself was targeted, especially after Kali was killed. N
James had never been inside Romero’s home before. There had never been a reason to because over the summer their base of operations had always been Washington Manor—the Director’s residence. Under normal circumstances, he would have found the house to be warm and comfortable. It was built in a classic American style from a bygone era: wood floors, wood paneling intricate crown molding and lots of fireplaces. He couldn’t help but think it a miniature version of the Director’s place. It was for that reason alone that in lieu of any comfort, he felt stifled and suffocated. Ignoring all else, he made his way through the house and onto the screened back porch. He sat into a wooden Adirondack chair hoping to process more than a few of his rumbling emotions. He studiously avoided thinking about Blakeney and instead focused on the others which had died. There were many he didn’t know, but of the few he did, he had known them well. There was Jennifer West, the beautiful and spontaneous girl
They pushed their way through the trampled snow and to the fountain where the escaping students had gathered. James set Jennifer down on the cold earth and surveyed the panic-stricken mass. Far too many were missing from their numbers and Blakeney was nowhere to be seen. He turned to Eliza as he shrugged off his jacket and ripped his shirt in two. “Help them, okay?” he told her desperately, handing her one of the two pieces. Eliza nodded and went to work trying to stem the flow of blood coming from Jennifer’s battered body. One look was all that was required, however, for her to know it was hopeless; the girl’s lungs had been severely pierced. Even though they had been at odds in the past, this last semester, they had become acquaintances, maybe, ironically, the pair had even been heading towards friendship. But now... this. She tried to provide whatever comfort she could during Jennifer’s last moments of life. “It’s going to be okay,” Eliza said with a small smile. “You’ll be fine
Arriving at the end of the hall, James lifted a single foot and kicked the door in. The struggle going on in the room shocked him enough to crack a shallow wedge in his confidence. Svetlana lay on her bed clutching her bleeding chest, while in the far comer by the window, Eliza barely held the attacking soldier at bay with her dagger which was held in a vise-like grip. She was trembling with fear and tears spilled profusely from her eyes. The shattering doorframe had knocked the soldier’s attention from her and as its eerier eyes were coming to rest on the intruder, James flew into action. In barely more than the blink of an eye, he batted away an attempted strike and skid his blade clean through the enemy’s chest. With a flick and twist, the heart was pierced, death instantaneous. James slammed the body into the ground with disgust and moved his eyes to Eliza. “You okay?” he asked gently. She sniffed once and nodded. He secured his sword and shield onto his back, then went to S
Blakeney had been up and working in his office when the screaming alerted him. Not taking any chances, he grabbed the sword he kept by his desk and marched towards the school’s foyer. As soon as he stepped onto the marble floors from the staff offices, the sight of flames consuming the dormitories filled his eyes. His breath quickened and his pulse pounded in his ears as the building flames engulfed his school. The students I his mind shouted above the growing fear. He sprinted down the thoroughfare, protection of innocent lives the only thing on his mind. But, no sooner had he made his way into the inner courtyard, then a sinister, pleased laugh echoed amidst the granite. “Hello, Director Blakeney,” a deep, steady voice spoke. Blakeney whirled on the spot, searching for the source. Like an image being born from darkness, Nicholas Clurife stepped into the light. He wore all black, his evil Stygian blade held at the ready, and the smile that spread across his face oozed with crue