Chapter Thirty-Nine
Styxx had to force himself not to throw his knife straight through Camulus's skull for that. But he didn't want to waste the blade when there was real meat to be eaten. And he hadn't had to kill it first.
It took everything he had to eat civilly, as a human, and not shovel it into his mouth like the animal he'd become. Gods, it was so good. Forget the cake ... nothing could be better than this.
He reached for the wine then paused at the container it was in. It looked so frail and delicate.
Camulus let out a heavy sigh. "This isn't going to work." He gestured at Styxx. "He's staring at the glass like it's some alien invader."
"He's never seen glass like that."
"My point. He'll never pass for Acheron."
Too used to criticism and mockery to react to it, Styxx's frown deepened. "What do I dilute this with?"
Camulus started to respond, but Dionysus cut him off. "You don't." He held his hand up to stifle Styxx's protest. "I know in your time period it was uncivilized to drink wine without dilution. However, that was a very long time ago. Drink it as it is. Trust me, it's good, and it won't make you rape and pillage the village." Then he returned to his conversation.
Well, if anyone should know how to drink wine, it was the Greek god of the vine.
Hoping for the best, Styxx took a tentative sip. It pained him to admit it, but Dionysus was right. It was delicious. And very different from what he'd known in Didymos.
As Styxx listened in on their conversation, he learned that Dionysus had been banned from Olympus and sent to live in the mortal realm.... The real reason for his planned hostile takeover. Dionysus wanted to return to Olympus and throw his father from the mountain.
Likewise, Camulus's godhood was all but gone and he wanted the heart carved out of someone named Talon.
In the middle of their conversation, they stopped talking to stare at him. "Human?" Dionysus asked.
Don't I wish.
"God of drunken lunatics?" he shot back at Dionysus.
Camulus laughed.
Dionysus not so much. "Can you feign an Atlantean accent?"
Styxx wiped his mouth with his napkin. "It's been a while since I heard one, but I think I have it."
The Olympian actually appeared impressed. "Where did you get that?"
"I spent three years in Atlantis. I heard it a lot."
"Ah, well, just so you know, your brother's accent comes and goes."
"Noted."
Dionysus swirled his wine around in his ... glass. That was the correct word for it. "I might live to regret this comment, but I think we're going to pull this off."
Styxx only wished he shared their optimism. I better enjoy my limited freedom. Because sooner or later, something was going to happen and he'd be relegated back to hell soon.
He was sure of it.
February 17, 2004
Styxx sat alone in the Cafe Pontalba at a table near one of the large doors that opened onto the street where tourists thronged in the midst of pre-Mardi Gras celebration. The waitress had just taken away his plate and card.
Drinking his beer, he stared at the foreign people who made no sense to him. They were all very odd.
Like you're not?
True. He was so out of place, he couldn't stand it. And he hated playing with people's lives. At first, he hadn't minded his assignments. Get close to the Dark-Hunters who worked with his brother and report back to Dionysus and Camulus. Play with their heads and confuse them a little.
Something made infinitely easier because he could hear their thoughts. But what had stunned him was how much love and respect the Dark-Hunters bore his brother.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reconcile the Acheron they knew with the cowardly brother who'd stabbed him. The brother who'd ruthlessly oiled his body and held him down so that Estes could brand "whore" on his groin and laugh while it was done to him.
The brother whose greatest wish was to pay money to see Styxx violently raped.
His twin had never been caring about other people. Justifiable given Estes's abuse, Acheron had been bitter and angry.
Hurt.
Maybe people did change. The gods knew Acheron had had plenty of time for it while he'd left Styxx to rot in isolation.
Still ... why wouldn't such an altruistic, "decent," and benevolent person check on his own brother?
At least once in eleven thousand years?
As the waitress returned his card, Styxx rubbed at his temples. He had a splitting headache from the voices that echoed all around him. That had been the only good thing about being on the island. The only voice in his head had been his own. And even it had faded and gone quiet after a few thousand years.
Not even the keepers Artemis had sent at odd intervals had verbal thoughts. Rather their thoughts had been pictures so vivid, he'd drawn them in the sand after they left. Then the tide would come and wash them away and leave him with a new slate to draw on.
His phone rang. Styxx checked the number and was grateful it wasn't one of the Dark-Hunters Dionysus had been rerouting to his cell. Since he couldn't hear their thoughts over the phone, it made talking to them even more difficult than normal.
"What do you need?" he asked Camulus.
"Did you find out about the woman? Does Talon know she's his wife reincarnated?"
Yes, he did, but Styxx refrained from sharing that. He wasn't sure why. Just that the hopeful delight in Camulus's tone made him wary. Besides, he understood the pain of losing the woman he loved. He wasn't callous enough to torture another man with something like that.
Not even for his own freedom and sanity.
"I don't know," he lied.
Camulus cursed. "Find out!" He hung up.
"You look like you're about to splinter that thing."
Styxx glanced up to see Nick Gautier in front of his table. He'd bumped into the kid a few days ago while he'd been helping to set up one of the Dark-Hunters. This man was a Squire-modern day servant or employee, rather-to Talon, the Dark-Hunter Camulus wanted to torture most. Apparently, Talon had killed Camulus's son in battle, back in the Dark Ages, and the god ached for vengeance over it.
And yet they all thought that Styxx should be willing to forgive Apollo for all his transgressions that had cost Styxx's son his life....
Yeah.
"Hey, kid." Styxx slid the phone into his pocket. Standing at six foot four, Nick was physically older than Styxx and yet he seemed like an infant to him. There was an innocence to the Cajun boy that Styxx wasn't sure he'd ever possessed. If he had, he must have still been in a pana.
Nick took the chair in front of him, turned it around, and straddled it. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem a little off."
There was an understatement. Nick was the only one in town who really concerned him when it came to discovering he wasn't Acheron. Apparently, his brother had a tight-knit relationship with Nick that Acheron didn't have with other people.
"It's the Daimons. Too much shit going on."
Nick laughed. "I hear you. And on top of everything else, school is kicking my a-s-s. I wish I could pay one of you to take my finals and write my papers. I don't know what it is about them, but every time I have to sit down to a test, I choke and can't remember how to do anything right."
Styxx snorted at his words. "So what you're telling me is that you're having performance anxiety issues?"
"What...? No! Hell to the no!"