Sweet Legacy
Page 17
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I sense Greer moving to my side.
“This is insane, right?” she whispers. “I can’t believe we’re about to step into the home of the gods. My parents would die if I ever told them about this.”
As much as I want to make some snide comment, to make her feel silly for being so freaked out, I can’t—because I feel exactly the same way.
This experience is getting a little surreal, even for me. Sure, I’ve been hunting monsters straight out of mythology since before I had boobs, but the idea that the residence of the Greek gods—the gods—is on the other side of this door is mind-blowing.
“My ex-parents,” I reply, “would have probably beat the hell out of me for making it all up.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath. That’s when I realize I might have gone overboard on our bonding moment. I don’t talk about my childhood. These circumstances are making me more reckless than usual. Greer did not sign up to listen to me complain about my sucky former life. That’s all best left in the past.
“I—”
Her arms are around me before I can take it back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know if it’s the darkness or the emotion in her voice or the absolute craziness of the situation, but I find myself blinking back tears. I didn’t feel sorry for myself when I lived with Phil and Barb. I’m certainly not going to feel sorry for myself now that I’ve escaped them and made a bigger life for myself.
Still, I can’t help lifting my arms to hug Greer back.
I give her a quick squeeze that says Thank you and also Mention this ever again and I’ll glue your mouth shut while you sleep. She must get the message, because she takes a step back just as the door reopens and the golden maiden sticks her head into the passageway.
“All clear,” she calls out.
“Let’s go.” I step out of the tunnel. “Olympus awaits.”
CHAPTER 7
GREER
I have been a guest in the most expensive, designer-created homes in San Francisco and in cities around the world. I have attended operas in ornate, gilded theaters, walked the halls of the world’s greatest museums, and shopped in the most exclusive boutiques in New York, London, Paris, and Tokyo. But I have never, in all my travels, seen anything as breathtaking as the halls of Mount Olympus.
At first, I’m blinded by the brightness. Everything is sparkling white in brilliant light. It takes my eyes a full minute to adjust after the darkness of the passage and the abyss beyond.
When I can finally look my fill without squinting, I attempt to take it all in.
Every surface is marble—the floor, the walls, the delicate columns that sweep up to the marble ceiling. It’s the purest white stone I’ve ever seen, purer even than the coveted Makrana white Mother insisted on for her bathroom. There isn’t a fleck of color or a shadow of a vein in it.
Capping the columns are intricately carved capitals forming graceful acanthus leaves. Set in the spaces between the leaves are fat, round gems in every color of the rainbow. Bright red rubies, rich green emeralds, and deep blue sapphires trail down the fluted lengths of the columns, sparkle like multihued stars in the ceiling, and paint the inlaid floor with a priceless mosaic of precious stones.
To say I am in awe would be the understatement of the century.
“Greer,” Gretchen hisses, gesturing at me from an alcove halfway down the hall, where she is waiting with Sillus, the golden maiden, and her human-looking twin.
Almost as shocking as the gleaming halls of Olympus was stepping out of the tunnel and finding myself face-to-face with a flesh-and-blood version of our golden maiden. With the exception of their . . . material, they are identical—exact copies right down to the waves in their hair.
Apparently Hephaestus crafted more maidens in his forge than the four known golden ones. When the door between realms was sealed and the golden maidens were deemed more monster than human or god, he created more human-like maidens to replace those locked into the abyss.
The more human maiden calls herself Alaia, which makes me wonder if the golden maiden has another name.
I push aside my questions and my appreciation of the surroundings. I cannot forget why we’re here and why getting caught would be a very bad thing. Some of the gods are the ones who want us dead to prevent us from opening the door. They would rather let the monster realm be permanently sealed away, killing every last creature that lives inside. They believe that is the only way to protect the human world. They are unlikely to offer us ambrosia and scones if we’re found on godly grounds.
Maybe, if things go well, I can come back for a leisurely visit in the future. Another time, when so many lives and the balance of justice in every realm are not at stake.
I hurry to catch up with the rest of the group.
I’m still two alcoves away from Gretchen when I hear footsteps.
I freeze, right there in the middle of the halls of Olympus, standing out against the gems and pristine marble like a moth on a Michelangelo. With the sound distorted by echo, I can’t tell where they’re coming from. I don’t know which way to run. My brain stops working and panic sets in.
I drag in a breath to shout for Gretchen, who is watching me with an irritated look on her face—she can’t hear the footsteps yet—when a strong hand claps over my mouth. Thane drags me across the hall and behind a statue of Aphrodite in the nearest alcove.
As the footsteps get louder, he presses me against the goddess of love’s flowing marble skirts. His entire body holds me in place, keeps me from slipping into view. His eyes—fierce and swirling, like the roiling clouds of a spring thunderstorm—are unfocused as he listens intently.
“This is insane, right?” she whispers. “I can’t believe we’re about to step into the home of the gods. My parents would die if I ever told them about this.”
As much as I want to make some snide comment, to make her feel silly for being so freaked out, I can’t—because I feel exactly the same way.
This experience is getting a little surreal, even for me. Sure, I’ve been hunting monsters straight out of mythology since before I had boobs, but the idea that the residence of the Greek gods—the gods—is on the other side of this door is mind-blowing.
“My ex-parents,” I reply, “would have probably beat the hell out of me for making it all up.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath. That’s when I realize I might have gone overboard on our bonding moment. I don’t talk about my childhood. These circumstances are making me more reckless than usual. Greer did not sign up to listen to me complain about my sucky former life. That’s all best left in the past.
“I—”
Her arms are around me before I can take it back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know if it’s the darkness or the emotion in her voice or the absolute craziness of the situation, but I find myself blinking back tears. I didn’t feel sorry for myself when I lived with Phil and Barb. I’m certainly not going to feel sorry for myself now that I’ve escaped them and made a bigger life for myself.
Still, I can’t help lifting my arms to hug Greer back.
I give her a quick squeeze that says Thank you and also Mention this ever again and I’ll glue your mouth shut while you sleep. She must get the message, because she takes a step back just as the door reopens and the golden maiden sticks her head into the passageway.
“All clear,” she calls out.
“Let’s go.” I step out of the tunnel. “Olympus awaits.”
CHAPTER 7
GREER
I have been a guest in the most expensive, designer-created homes in San Francisco and in cities around the world. I have attended operas in ornate, gilded theaters, walked the halls of the world’s greatest museums, and shopped in the most exclusive boutiques in New York, London, Paris, and Tokyo. But I have never, in all my travels, seen anything as breathtaking as the halls of Mount Olympus.
At first, I’m blinded by the brightness. Everything is sparkling white in brilliant light. It takes my eyes a full minute to adjust after the darkness of the passage and the abyss beyond.
When I can finally look my fill without squinting, I attempt to take it all in.
Every surface is marble—the floor, the walls, the delicate columns that sweep up to the marble ceiling. It’s the purest white stone I’ve ever seen, purer even than the coveted Makrana white Mother insisted on for her bathroom. There isn’t a fleck of color or a shadow of a vein in it.
Capping the columns are intricately carved capitals forming graceful acanthus leaves. Set in the spaces between the leaves are fat, round gems in every color of the rainbow. Bright red rubies, rich green emeralds, and deep blue sapphires trail down the fluted lengths of the columns, sparkle like multihued stars in the ceiling, and paint the inlaid floor with a priceless mosaic of precious stones.
To say I am in awe would be the understatement of the century.
“Greer,” Gretchen hisses, gesturing at me from an alcove halfway down the hall, where she is waiting with Sillus, the golden maiden, and her human-looking twin.
Almost as shocking as the gleaming halls of Olympus was stepping out of the tunnel and finding myself face-to-face with a flesh-and-blood version of our golden maiden. With the exception of their . . . material, they are identical—exact copies right down to the waves in their hair.
Apparently Hephaestus crafted more maidens in his forge than the four known golden ones. When the door between realms was sealed and the golden maidens were deemed more monster than human or god, he created more human-like maidens to replace those locked into the abyss.
The more human maiden calls herself Alaia, which makes me wonder if the golden maiden has another name.
I push aside my questions and my appreciation of the surroundings. I cannot forget why we’re here and why getting caught would be a very bad thing. Some of the gods are the ones who want us dead to prevent us from opening the door. They would rather let the monster realm be permanently sealed away, killing every last creature that lives inside. They believe that is the only way to protect the human world. They are unlikely to offer us ambrosia and scones if we’re found on godly grounds.
Maybe, if things go well, I can come back for a leisurely visit in the future. Another time, when so many lives and the balance of justice in every realm are not at stake.
I hurry to catch up with the rest of the group.
I’m still two alcoves away from Gretchen when I hear footsteps.
I freeze, right there in the middle of the halls of Olympus, standing out against the gems and pristine marble like a moth on a Michelangelo. With the sound distorted by echo, I can’t tell where they’re coming from. I don’t know which way to run. My brain stops working and panic sets in.
I drag in a breath to shout for Gretchen, who is watching me with an irritated look on her face—she can’t hear the footsteps yet—when a strong hand claps over my mouth. Thane drags me across the hall and behind a statue of Aphrodite in the nearest alcove.
As the footsteps get louder, he presses me against the goddess of love’s flowing marble skirts. His entire body holds me in place, keeps me from slipping into view. His eyes—fierce and swirling, like the roiling clouds of a spring thunderstorm—are unfocused as he listens intently.
