Chapter 1

It was another slow summer Monday. And like any other slow summer Monday, I was stuck waiting tables in Brooklyn's worst Russian hole-in-the-wall, Veal iz Vasily. The tips weren't great, and the place smelled faintly of old meat, but I still had to be grateful that my father had talked his old friend, Vasily himself, into giving me a job.

"You are sixteen years old now, Alexey. It's about time you started working. I won't be around to give you free food forever!" my father, Maxim Lebedev, had said, an affectionate smile on his face. I had only time to scowl with disapproval before he whipped out his phone and dialed Vasily's number.

I smiled for a moment, recalling the memory. I knew my Papa always had my best interests at heart, even if my heart wasn't always in the right place.

Standing at the server's station in the back of the deserted restaurant, I heard the bells hanging on the front door chime. I looked over to see two young women walk in and sit at a booth against the wall. I grabbed a couple menus and some rolled up silverware and walked over to them.

"Hi, welcome to Vasily's," I began with a polite smile. "What can I get you to drink?" I asked as I placed the silverware and menus. Up close, I realized that the two women were incredibly beautiful – perhaps the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Realizing that I was being rude, I flashed my eyes downward.

"Hey there," one began, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling. "We'll both have water." I glanced at the other, who nodded, grinning as well.

"Alright," I answered, still with a small smile, "I'll be right back." As I turned to walk to the back, I could've sworn I caught a glimpse of their smiles wavering, as though they were dissatisfied for some reason. Dismissing this, I got two cups of water and returned with them. "Here you go. Would you like to start off with any appetizers?"

As I asked the question, the two started up once more with their beating eyelashes and suggestive smiles. They hadn't even opened their menus. "Oh, sweetie, that's okay," the second one said. "We're hungry, but not for an appetizer." She had a smug look on her face. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable as I felt blood rush into my cheeks. I stared at her for a few seconds and then stammered.

"O-okay, well, I'll give you a few minutes to look at the menu." I quickly turned and headed for the kitchen. I could hear them whispering sharply behind me as I walked. I thought one of them even hissed. I burst through the kitchen doors feeling thoroughly embarrassed and a little freaked out.

I knew it had been a small thing, just a girl hitting on me. Maybe they were just messing with me, seeing that I was a teenage boy.

I stood there for a few minutes, leaning against the wall and recollecting myself. I ran my hands through my mop of brown hair, took a deep breath, and walked back through the doors.

The two stared me down as I approached the table. Trying my best to smile again through my nerves, I asked, "Are we ready to order?" I eyed the still-unopened menus nervously. "Or do you need more time?"

They, on the other hand, were no longer smiling.

"Look, kid. We came in here because we smelled something tasty. Now you can either—" The woman was cut short by the front door chiming. I was saved by the bell, and by Fletcher Meadows, my best friend and coworker. I noticed that he had frozen in place, still in the doorway, glaring at the women.

He briskly walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll handle this, Alexey." Relief flooding my body, I escaped back to the server's station and watched him "handle" it. He and the women exchanged what seemed like some very fierce, heated words, until finally the two women conceded, standing up, grimacing at one another, and exited the restaurant.

Smiling lazily, Fletcher approached me. To be honest, that had been very unlike him. Usually he couldn't care less who was in the restaurant – and half the time he let people leave without paying. I studied him carefully, making sure he wasn't about to flip out on me next. However, his green eyes betrayed no impending conniption.

"Hey, man," he drawled, as though what had just taken place actually hadn't. "What's up?"

"What's up?" I demanded. "Seriously, what was that?" I peered over his shoulder at the doors to make sure no more pretty ladies were about to walk in.

"What was what, dude?" he replied, his lazy expression unchanging.

"Those girls! What did you tell them? Why did you freak out like that?"

"Oh, them? I told 'em that if they weren't gonna order any food, they could scram."

"Uh, okay." He had appeared to say much more than that, but I decided to drop it. I grabbed the bill of his cap and pushed it down over his eyes, like I always did when I saw him. "Anyway, now that you're here, I'm gonna go clock out."

"Alright, bro," he giggled, pushing his cap back up over his wavy blond curls.

I got home around four o'clock, leaving me with a couple hours until my dad got home. The two of us lived in a small condo in Brighton Beach, at the very southern tip of Brooklyn. It was an interesting area, to say the least, populated by the families of Russian immigrants like my dad. And the beaches were nice, as long as you didn't mind large, hairy tourists.

I dragged myself to my room, my feet sore, and flopped onto my bed. All of a sudden, I felt very sleepy. Before I could even think about it, I was out like a light.

That's when the dreams began, as they always did.

I stood on a hill, between a large statue of some serious-looking woman and a pine tree, overlooking a valley of strawberry fields and open green. At the bottom of the valley I saw a huge four-story house painted light blue, complete with a wraparound porch. I recognized this place, even though I had never been here in real life. In the distance I could also see what looked like several cabins in a square formation, a Greek-looking amphitheater, and a tall wall with lava seeping down the sides.

Before I could gaze at everything there was to take in, the statue began to speak. That had never happened before. Looking down on me, disapproval tingeing her mien, the stone woman said, "You are the offspring of a broken oath – the bastard child of a tainted vow. We do not smile upon you." I blanched. What was she talking about?

The scene changed, and I was alone in a small, chilly cave, sitting by a fire, rubbing my hands together. I had been here before in my dreams as well. I liked this place, lonely though it was, and I was glad to be away from that statue. As the flames flickered, I could suddenly make out a face in the center of the blaze. As soon as I discerned its womanly features, though, the fire shot up, sending a cloud of ash into the air.

When I looked up, I was surrounded by tall, dark figures, refusing to be illuminated by the light of my fire. This was definitely new. The shadows drew nearer and nearer, closing in on me. I panicked, standing up and looking for a way to escape. However, without warning, the figures flew past me and into the fire, putting it out and leaving me in pitch black darkness.

I woke with a start. I was in my bed, covered in sweat. I touched my hands to my face and realized that I had been crying. I covered my eyes, trying to vanquish the thoughts of the bizarre changes to my once-peaceful dreams.

I heard sounds coming from the kitchen downstairs. Drying my eyes on my blanket, I got out of bed and went to greet my father.

Papa and I sat across from each other in silence at our small kitchen table, chowing down on the Chinese takeout he had brought home.

My father was a journalist reporting for a local Russian newspaper. On the side, he also ran a blog on which he posted about current events in Russia: fashion trends, crime reports, government activity, that sort of thing. I suppose it meant a lot to the people around here to learn about the goings-on of their homeland from a good source.

He broke the silence. "How was work today, Alyosha?" (Alyosha was a nickname – don't get me started on Russian pet names).

"It was—"

"Hold on, hold on, let me guess. 'It was okay,'" he mocked, a playful sparkle in his eyes. I tried my best to sneer, but I couldn't help smiling.

"Fine. It was boring as all get-out. Nothing happened," I muttered, focusing intently on my half-eaten shrimp egg roll.

"Nothing? Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Okay, well, maybe something happened, but it was nothing."

"Something, but nothing? How can something be nothing?"

"It was— okay, now I'm confused."

We both laughed.

"Okay," he started again, more gently. "Tell me what happened."

My cheeks colored for the umpteenth time that day. "Alright. So, these two girls came in today. And like, they started to— Well, I guess you could say they were flirting." I ducked my head.

"Look at you! My son the ladies' man." He grinned proudly. The corners of my mouth twitched downward.

"And so, uh, I didn't really know what to do, and they all of a sudden got really serious, like they were upset, talking about how they had smelled something and were really hungry. But, I mean, they hadn't even opened their menus."

A look of worry touched his face. He narrowed his eyes. "What did these girls look like?"

"Uh, well, they were pretty. Like, really pretty. Really, really pretty." I couldn't stop blushing, talking to my dad about this. "But then, Fletcher came in, and he got all serious too, like the girls offended him somehow. I don't know. He made them leave."

His eyes widened. "I see." The noodles he had scooped up fell off his fork.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing. That's just strange. But like you said, it's nothing, I'm sure." I scowled. He sounded like me. First Fletcher wouldn't tell me what the deal was, and now Papa. "Well," he said, standing up, "I'd better get ready for bed. I've got to wake up early to update the blog. Can you take care of the leftovers, Lyosha?"

"Yeah. Goodnight, Papa." After he had disappeared up the stairs, I got to work filling the fridge with tomorrow's breakfast. I sighed in frustration. What was even going on? What was it about those girls that worried my father and Fletcher so much?

Finishing up in the kitchen, I trudged up the stairs. I was beat. As I crossed in front of Papa's door, though, my senses perked. I could hear him speaking, very urgently. He was on the phone with someone. Slowly and silently, I brought my ear to the door.

"…really think it's best that he goes to the camp right away? Don't these things take a bit of time before they start getting out of hand?" Camp? Who was "he"? Papa hadn't mentioned any camp to me.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I'm not sure what took them so long. Keeping him any longer would probably be a gamble at this point… I don't know if I'm ready to let him go yet, but his safety comes first." I knitted my eyebrows. I didn't know what to think about that. Was he going to send me somewhere? What took who so long? My safety?

"Okay, Fletcher." Fletcher?! "Please come by tomorrow and watch over him for the day. I need to know that he is protected. When I get home from work, I suppose I will break the news, and we can make the preparations. Hang on, let me go check on him."

My head was spinning. I stepped back and breathed in sharply, realizing that I had been holding my breath. Coming to my senses, I bolted to my room. I quickly stripped down, threw my clothes into the hamper, and jumped into my bed. No sooner had I pulled the blanket over my head than my dad opened the door. I attempted to slow my breathing. After a few moments, my door clicked shut. Exhausted, I relaxed and let a dreamless sleep take over.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the doorbell. Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains right into my eyes. Groaning, I stretched out my limbs and put a pillow over my face, wondering what anyone could want this early in the morning.

Then, thoughts of last night came flooding in. I froze as I recalled what I had overheard my father talking about on the phone. He had been talking to Fletcher. And if I remembered correctly, I was supposedly in some kind of danger. I cursed, wishing it had all been just a dream. But I knew that wasn't the case.

I dragged myself out of bed, pulling on some sweatpants and a tank top, and ran downstairs to the door. Just as I expected, when I opened it, there was Fletcher, casual as ever. I stared at him, unsure of what to say. Should I pretend to know nothing?

"Hey, dude," he said, walking past me and making a beeline for the kitchen. As he started digging through the fridge, I decided I would feign ignorance for the day. Whatever was going on, I wanted to hear it from my dad.

"Uh, hey, Fletch. Um, what are you doing here?" I inquired, exaggerating my question a little too much. Real convincing, I thought to myself.

"Just hangin', yo," was the only reply I got, emitted from the depths of the refrigerator.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna… go get ready for the day," I mumbled, heading back upstairs to the bathroom.

Observing my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that my eyes were bloodshot, little streaks of red lightning shooting out from my brown irises. I had already felt like a zombie waking up this early on my day off; it didn't sit well with me knowing that I looked like one too. My prominent cheekbones and jawline – things I inherited from my father – didn't help the gauntness of my countenance, either.

It was obvious that I was more than a little worried – I was scared. I couldn't imagine how I would manage to act normal around Fletcher all day, especially considering he was here to "watch over" me. As I stepped into the shower, I considered just how ridiculous that sounded, Fletcher watching over me. I could think of no one less responsible than Fletcher Meadows. With that thought, I sped through my shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and raced back downstairs.

I had not been fast enough. I gaped at the disaster area that was now my kitchen and tried to decide whether I should call nine-one-one to report a burglary.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

Hello, yes, my best friend has stolen my peace of mind, as well as all my food.

"Dude!" I called out as I surveyed the damage, chip bags and candy wrappers and – did that soda can have a bite out of it? – empty takeout boxes strewn all over the counters and the floor. "Why— No— How did you do this?"

"What?" he called back, obviously not paying attention. He was in the living room playing a video game.

"Never mind." I sighed as I pulled a trash bag from my barren pantry and got to work cleaning up. By the time I finished up scourging the kitchen, Fletcher had put on some romantic comedy B movie.

I threw myself into an armchair, ready to stay put here until my dad got home. I couldn't focus on the movie; I simply had too much on my mind. Sitting there, I let my mind drift to yesterday's dreams. Those dark figures in the cave had terrified me. I was afraid to even close my eyes anymore for fear that the shadows would be there when I opened them. And that statue on the hill had spoken. What had she called me? A bastard child? Wasn't it, like, unacceptable to call people that these days? Like I needed reminding that my mom wasn't around…

Let's not go there, I thought to myself. I'd been down that path far too many times.

What else had she said? Something about a… a broken oath. A "tainted vow." Whatever, it probably meant nothing, anyway. It was just a dream. With that, I forced myself to pay attention to the stale plot of the movie.

Several hours and too many rom-coms later, Fletcher's stomach rumbled – loudly – announcing that he was hungry. As if on cue, he stood up and complained, "I'm starved."

I got up and walked after him. "Are you sure? You ate the whole kitchen. I'd hate for you to eat all the other rooms as well," I replied dryly. To tell the truth, I was hungry too. I hadn't eaten anything all day, and it was about dinner time. "We could go pick something up."

Fletcher jerked his head toward me, the same look on his face he had given the women at Vasily's, startling me. He looked at me for a moment and said, "Nah, it'd be better if we stayed here. We can just order a pizza." I got an idea.

"Why would it be better to stay here?" I countered, narrowing my eyes. "Something out there scare you?" I was all in.

That took him off guard. "N-no, I just, don't feel like going out is all, bro. What makes you say that?" I had him on the defensive. I steeled myself and went in for the kill.

"You're right, it would be a shame if we were to run into anymore hungry beautiful women. After all, you're supposed to be watching over me." Fletcher was in shock.

However, we both turned our heads when we heard a key turning in the front door. Finally, my father was home. I shot Fletcher a glare and ambled back to my armchair. He followed and took his place on the couch.

"Hi, Papa," I spoke, a hint of annoyance in my voice. All this nonsense was really eating at me.

"Hi, Mr. Lebedev," Fletcher mumbled, still in a daze.

"Ah, hello, boys. How was your day?" I picked up on the anxiety in his voice.

"Fine," I replied. "We just watched movies. Also, we need to go grocery—"

"Alexey," he interrupted with my seldom-used proper name, "we need to talk."

Papa, Fletcher, and I sat in silence in the living room – the two of them on the couch and me still in the chair. Nerves flooded my body. I had no idea what to expect, so I kept up my act.

"Uh, Papa, is there a reason we're having this talk with Fletcher here?" Fletcher eyed me carefully, as if gauging how fast I could run and whether he could catch me, but he stayed silent.

"Fletcher is here because I asked him to be."

"I don't understand. Is someone dead?"

"No, Alexey, no one is dead." My father sighed.

"Yet," Fletcher murmured. Papa gave him the evil eye.

"Okay, I've had enough," I declared. "Tell me what's going on. Now."

Papa looked away for a few moments, and then looked me directly in the eye, and began to speak.

"This is difficult, Alexey. You— We are in a difficult situation. And I know that we've had hard times before, and we've always gotten through them, together, but nothing like this. What I'm about to tell you, it's… Well, frankly, you aren't going to believe it."

"Can you get to the point?"

"Please, Alyosha, I'm trying. Your Papa is trying. But, I will attempt to cut to the chase. This is about who you are. Or, more precisely, what you are." He took a moment, rubbing his eyes. I said nothing. Finally, he started again. "You, Alexey, are a demigod."