ACT TWO
ONE
"your grace is wasted in your face, your boldness stands alone among the wreck"
-little lion man, mumford and sons
"Rhea?" He asked an empty corridor. Pitch black shadows cast eerily oblong shapes onto the carpeted hotel floors. The main door to her suite had been left ajar and made a horror-movie squeak when he pushed it open. Kronos took a hesitant step. "Rhea?"
Still no reply.
The hotel was dark, but small, so through the moonlight streaming through the window, Kronos could see her bed, still made. Her dresser was where it had been late last night when he had been with her, the bathroom door still just slightly agape. A little kitchenette seemed unkempt, berries and yogurt from their breakfast just left on the countertop, as he remembered. Clothes on the floor. Bathroom towel hung on the door.
But Rhea?
An uneasy feeling gnawed at his stomach. Why exactly had he left her? Somehow a lazy morning together lounging in bed had bled into him deciding he needed to "work." He'd been gone only for a couple of hours, only one with Agata. A couple in the Hall of Records.
"Babe?" He croaked, voice losing its strength. He paused almost, at himself. Had he really resorted to such… mortal nicknames for her? By Gaia.
His eyes snapped closed as the light clicked on. He almost staggered backward. The blaring light was in sharp comparison to the deep dark of the night. A chuckle. His ear twitched towards the noise. Eyelids slivered open. He focused.
A man in a fine pinstripe suit, pants freshly pressed and ankles crossed over each other, sat in the plush chair in the corner. His nails were manicured, Kronos noted, and he wore three rings on his fingers. He knew him, of course. Everyone did. From television, from the papers. From their story books.
Zeus.
The king of Olympus drummed his fingers against the armrest. "Father." Was the smooth, calm voice he started with. Thick like honey, dripping with false promises already. Kronos remembered why he never watched the Sunday speeches in front the rebuilt Parthenon. The sheer amount of sleazy oozing off his ostentatious presentation made bile rise to his throat.
The words felt disgusting on his tongue. "My child."
First Poseidon. Now Zeus. Who next? Hestia? Hera? Please not Hera. Anyone but Hera. Kronos licked his chapped lips and tapped his foot where he stood – arms folded across his chest. Closed. His eyes scanned his surroundings. Alone. At least, he hoped they were alone. He knew the bedroom had another bath inside it, completely concealed from his view. Someone could be there. Nothing like more Olympian goons to ruin his already destroyed day.
Enough crap. Zeus knew whose room he was in, how could he not? No point in concealing the obvious. "Where's Rhea?"
Zeus smiled, skin deepening wrinkles in an entirely different way than Poseidon's had. His eyes were pressed hard instead of kind and mouth set into a natural frown instead of a smile. When he spoke, his skin stretched unflatteringly over his jawbone. "She's fine – I thought she deserved better accommodation, don't you?"
"You're not funny."
Zeus, ironically perhaps, laughed. "Ah, I'm sure I'm not." His eyes gleamed in the florescent light of the hotel room, blue, wet, and repulsive. Unlike his brother Poseidon, Zeus had not had such a… cheery life. Stained red cheeks told Kronos alcohol, and the bloated stomach his suit was desperately trying to hide agreed. Hands looked soft and clean, but thick fingers and purple bruises around his wrists showed sickness. His skin laden with small bumps and grooves. Kronos stepped back when he rose from his chair.
"Thalia." His voice was a rasp, "Come here, my love."
A girl, with hair black and spiky and her makeup heavy around her eyes, padded out of the bedroom, as Kronos had feared, hands in pockets. She was dressed in antiques of years past, converse – black, of course – an American Idiot t-shirt with silver hair clips across her scalp. The tips of her hair told the titan she'd once dyed them an electric blue. Kronos recognized her as Zeus' unofficial second-in-command; a bastard child of him and some television actress that'd died an early, predictable death after the birth of her second child. Car crash. He'd forgotten her name. Thalia was chewing gum loudly. The king of the skies smiled at his daughter as she stood beside him.
"You've heard, I suppose," a lazy flick under his nail, "that Poseidon is planning a revolt."
"Oh, yes." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "It's all over the street…" he paused for a compulsory roll of his eyes – teeth grit, "Rhea, Zeus. That's all I care about. I'm not serving Poseidon."
Zeus chuckled. "Yes, I know you're not. In fact, I know all about the meeting on Ambassador Street – I suppose we can thank my son for his clever surveillance." A twinge of annoyance across his cheeks. But then, his skin pulled over his teeth again – Kronos supposed it passed for a smile – albeit in a sick one. He wondered how someone was beautiful as Rhea had had the misfortune to create this. The titan blamed himself for whatever gene defect had made this ugly fuck. Zeus' hand pat his bloated belly, returning Kronos to the present. "You're working for me."
"Not to my knowledge I'm not."
Zeus scoffed, and expression that suited him. "Here's the deal, titan. Three kills," he waved his hand at the wrist, around in a circle, "and I give Rhea back to you. Fail to do so…" He shrugged. "Well, best not fail. Simple enough, no?"
Kronos was reminded of their last deal, actually the last time he'd spoken to Zeus all those millennia ago, the one he'd made to save the titans. At that time, the titan had been in a very similar compromising, uncomfortable position he was in now: forced to make a deal that was not suitable to him. But what were his alternatives? Refuse? And lose Rhea? He'd lost her once already; how hard could it be for him to do his job? He didn't care about three more deaths, really, he just wanted Rhea back. So take it. He hesitated. Maybe he should have just agreed to work for Poseidon. At least he'd be getting paid. The last time he and Zeus had danced this dance, he'd made Zeus promise on Rhea, because Kronos had thought no one would have the utter audacity to cross their own mother's good name, but now – he wasn't so sure. He didn't know Styx to be faithful – a sellout goddess like all the others – and he didn't know what kind of thing stood before him in that hideous suit. Far better to deal with an honest criminal than a shady businessman. He clenched his fist.
"Swear it."
Zeus laughed, bleached teeth gleaming. "On Rhea?"
"On your lust for power."
Seemed almost right.
His eyes darkened. "What a ridiculous thing to say."
Kronos held his gaze. "I want you to swear it on something true."
Too much air was hot between them. Kronos did not waver. Zeus did not waver. Neither held their breath. Thalia popped a bubble in her gum, blue eyes slivering over to her father.
Zeus snorted, an ugly sound surely, but one that signaled to Kronos agreement – that he'd won this round.
"I swear it."
"Who do I kill?"
TWO
He'd been given meager instructions. Really, genuinely awful.
"Go home."
Really? Thanks, Zeus.
When he'd returned to his apartment in Plaka – he'd found it tossed. Of course. He had nothing to hide there actually, but he assumed Zeus had ordered it done more to prove a point than anything. That the titan couldn't keep secrets. Kronos thought the practice was pointless – he wanted Rhea back. What did he care of his sons' conflict? What could an essentially powerless titan do against an Olympian anyway? He rummaged through what had once been an icebox he'd kept beside his kitchen – for a beer, obviously – which though he was sure he had one left, it did not seem to be where he'd left it. Fuckers took his beer. In his flat, his furnace still hummed brutally against the murmurs of the city below.
He'd never really liked the apartment, but at least it had a separate bedroom and private bathroom – that already put it miles ahead of his last one. Electricity was a plus too. He lived on the third floor, consequently the top floor of the apartment complex, in the room farthest from the staircase and to the left. It was a brick building, poor planning for a city as warm and dry as Athens, and had been fitted with a completely unnecessary space heater nearly fifty years earlier. The kitchen, a minimal counter against one wall in the living room, had been freshly remodeled: a new chic, metal microwave, a refrigerator that blended in with the wood of his cabinets, and with an induction stove that squeaked enough to give him a headache when he used it. Amber, his aforementioned ex-girlfriend, had designed it and had it fitted a month after they'd moved in together. Now, everything he'd had in his cabinets was now on his floor. His couch was overturned and through the door into his bedroom, his comforter was hanging on the window sill beside his mattress, which had been slit open. His toiletries just seemed to be gone.
What remained was a single leaflet of nice stationary paper propped up against his pillow – which by some twisted feat of nature had remained untouched. He took it into his hand and folded open the note. In a fancy scrawl:
To meet, sixth floor across from Ambassador Hotel.
When you're ready.
No beer meant no point in hanging around here. He tucked the note into his pocket, secured the belt of his waistcoat around himself, and again – set into the cold night.
She was waiting for himin the new luxury apartments across from Ambassador Street. The sixth floor, to which he'd climbed the stairs, had only one door for one flat. A penthouse – two storied in nature – with a kitchen larger than his entire living room.
She sat at the marble breakfast bar, sipping on his single remaining beer.
"This is shit." She greeted as he stood in the foyer.
"It's cheap."
A sour expression. "Tastes like piss."
"It's beer."
She slurped another gulp and leaned back in the chair. It was quiet for a moment whilst she made a face at the taste. She swallowed. "You'll be staying here now, courtesy Lord Zeus."
Kronos glowered. "And I suppose you're going to say I don't have a choice."
"Correct."
He exhaled, but didn't argue. Why should he? This was leagues more "hip" than his home. Hell, what if he could fry something without gritting his teeth at the sound of his stove? That would be good. Either way, might as well enjoy it – let Zeus waste his money.
"Your toiletries and all are already here. Would've brought your pictures too, if you'd had any."
"So you're the one who ransacked my apartment?"
"You call that an apartment?"
He raised an eyebrow, but changed the subject. "I'm assuming you work for Zeus?"
She grinned. "Haven't I introduced myself? I'm Athena, daughter of Zeus."
So. This was the infamous Athena. He might have recognized her, if not by the dark hair covering her face by her startlingly gray eyes – but the titan tried to avoid anything politics, so he didn't. Kronos stuffed his hands in his jean's pockets. "And I'm assuming you're here to do more than be my welcome comity?"
A laughed. "Of course." She rose from her chair, legs long and gray dress clinging in very attractive ways around her hips. Kronos wouldn't deny it; she looked the part of a goddess. A couple more sultry steps toward him and the titan decided she wasn't actually all that pretty, only that she walked and held herself with the confidence of someone who was not used to failure. Or refusal. Kronos tilted his head.
Athena wordlessly held out a note – written on the same yellowed parchment he'd found in his flat. He could see an inscription inside the leaflet, of course, but he didn't read it until Athena had flounced about some more – and departed – leaving him alone.
He sat at his new marble breakfast bar. The letter was sparse, as the other had been, but was clear in its message:
Lower-side Plaka. Supply chain manager of Olympus Firms.
Hazel Levesque.
THREE
Another run at someone in his own neighborhood – and in the same month no less. Kronos was beginning to feel like a careless amateur. But, he supposed, if Zeus himself was ordering the hits, he didn't really need to fear prison. He cleaned his knife with bleach, handle and blade, and left it to dry on some fresh paper toweling in his new kitchen. And then? He ate an apple.
What? Not everything in his life went epically wrong.
He'd located Ms. Hazel Levesque, alright, and already – he had his suspicions. A pretty girl, of course; chocolate-y, curly hair and eyes like warm honey. She was highly educated, with a bachelor's in something like archeology, but worked in a medium sized factory distribution center that had little to do with her degree. Which was a little weird, but it was her father, or lack of one, that made Kronos paused. Because he was pretty sure it she was the daughter of his eldest son Hades. Something about her: her jawline maybe, or her smile, or maybe the sheer fact that Kronos could see no reason at all that Zeus might want her dead.
Expect to perhaps dissuade Hades from joining Poseidon's growing rebel cause.
Hmm.
And as much as Kronos internally loathed killing innocents – he usually made a point to morally judge his victims first, not that it justified his actions, but it did make him feel better – this was Rhea on the line. His wife. His wife who he'd not been with since before the time of recorded history.
Sorry, my maybe granddaughter.
Besides, it's not like it would be the first time he killed someone who didn't deserve it.
He thought it was almost funny, really, how after thousands of years without her it'd only taken a month, fuck less than a month, for him to decide he could no longer live without her. Gross and mushy, sure, stupidly fucking romantic, but true nonetheless. He wanted his Rhea back.
So then, Kronos, he chided himself, you want her? Time to focus.
Okay. What was important from his research then, besides her interesting yet utterly useless degree? She was a trained martial-artist for starters, which might cause minor issue. However, although his magic had been taken from him centuries ago, he was still a titan, and wasn't really that worried about some mortal girl over powering him. He hoped it wouldn't be his downfall. She lived in a surprisingly swanky apartment for someone so young – though still in Plaka. More importantly, she lived alone. And so, here he was, sitting in a cafe across from her building, wondering what the hell sort of complex in Plaka of all places had an actual, honest-to-Chaos doorman. And operational security cameras. For Gaia's sake, the fucker even had brass buttons on his uniform.
He drummed his fingers across the metal wire table. He had a black coffee in a paper cup in front of him, which he'd barely touched and a raisin scone that felt like a brick, which he'd not touched at all.
"More coffee, love?" Said a waitress with long lashes and hair in a messy bun. Oily strands hung down around her neck, trying to hide day-old hickies.
"No." Kronos replied, eyes flickering down to his clearly still full cup. "No, thank you."
She smiled and hovered at his table side longer than she had to. A subconscious tuck of her hair behind her ear, a lick at her red-painted lips. "Anything you need..." She let it trail, her words and her eyes.
"I'll let you know." Kronos said tightly. He smiled, lips pressed together.
She winked as she left.
He shuddered.
Focus.
Hazel's apartment certainly didn't have the tightest security regiment he'd encountered, not by a long shot; but he found himself hesitant nonetheless. Normally, the way these things go, he doesn't know his client, doesn't care, and the client doesn't know him. Sometimes he researched his mark's personal life just to internally judge them like the asshole he was. Generally speaking, assholes usually only wanted other assholes dead. This particular system of anonymity often made for a universal win-win situation. Somehow made him feel like he had the moral high-ground. Didn't know anyone involved – just in it for the money. It was clean in his gloriously black and white world. Such was his thinking. In this case, he knew why he was killing – and he felt a hell of a lot more like a solider than was overtly comfortable. Why was a contract assassin better than a mercenary? Good question, and not one Kronos could answer with actual logical support and facts. But, it was, of that he was sure. He'd done both, in his long lifetime, and had parted ways from serving anyone besides himself. Idealism had killed the titans, surely it couldn't serve anyone else much better.
He was bouncing away from this girl like he actually cared about her well-being. Which he didn't. And shouldn't. Rhea was on the line. Let that be his mantra. He tapped his finger against his plate. Anyway, he was a fucking contract killer, right? Had been for years. Just because the girl was related to him didn't mean much. Hell, most people in Greece were probably related to him.
Zeus.
So, fuck it.
He tucked his pastry into its paper bag and left the cafe.
Later that night, nibbling on his now cooled and slightly more soggy scone, he read more about his next victim. How? Social media. Yes, really. Facebook: people don't know when to stop. Now, he did this under the pretense of "research:" in reality, he wanted to feel better about himself by trying to make himself hate her as quickly as possible.
It wasn't working.
Top of her class at her high school back in her homeland, the United States. Of course she was. Homecoming court princess – which, as Kronos found with a quick Google search, was actually a thing – finished her college degree a year early thanks to classes at the local city college. Now worked as a supply chain manager, which he knew, handling precious stone, which he hadn't. Apparently, she had a knack for finding them – gems that is – and had been hired by Olympus firms to locate potential new dig sites straight out of university. She made money, but was appropriately sensible, and saved it. She had no children, and no spouse, but had a Canadian boyfriend, Frank, who lived back in the United States. They were far apart, because he was taking care of sick distant relatives, but she didn't cheat. She'd been in Greece for less than a year. Liked dogs. Volunteered at the city garden park in central Athens; yes, the one with a shit ton of dogs. Who could hate someone who takes care of fucking puppies in their free time? He was a titan, not a monster… though he'd found throughout the years of watching his now estranged family parade desperate mortals on their arms only to throw them away when a newer model came in, those weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. But, fucking puppies.
It was the next morning when he stopped mopping about. He'd already acquired the blueprints to her apartment complex and memorized them, already learned which bodyguard was most susceptible to "forgetfulness," already stolen her work schedule and heard from an overly chatty co-worker she usually stayed late. He'd already cleaned his knife.
Rhea was waiting.
It ended up being one of the easier jobs he'd ever done. He'd slipped in the door wearing a keffiyeh and leather gloves – claiming he was visiting a friend. The doorman shrugged. Turned his head from the cameras that were exactly were the blueprints said they would be. Then it was up the staircase and through her door to wait. He watched a neighbor chat in the hallway for awhile before making his way to her door. He jimmied the door open with a rudimentary bump key as quickly, as quietly, as he could, and slipped inside.
That day, she'd worked an hour overtime, and was overdue an hour thirty when her key turned the lock in her front door. Kronos was perched in her small entryway, not really bothering to hide himself. The moment she opened the door, he would be obscured from any nosy neighbors by the door itself. He'd already taken care to slide closed the curtains over facing the window onto the street and nearby building. It was dark, and he was being to feel a little cold when she opened the door.
She lifted her arms above her head and yawned after she'd thrown her keys onto the little table she kept wedged in the corner opposite Kronos. She hadn't seen him yet.
Fiercely, quickly, quietly – he closed her door behind her, not wanting to cause a scene that would attract unwanted attention – and before her startled gasp could be heard, wrapped his arm around her and secured her nose and mouth. She thrashed, obviously as she should, but only for a second. It took Kronos that second to bring the knife up in his left hand and drag it deeply into the shallows of her throat. Poor thing didn't stand a prayer. Crimson blood poured from her neck and she fell slack in his arms. He'd severed the jugular and her windpipe. Kronos supposed you could say she was dead before she hit the floor, but no. He didn't let her drop. The blood felt warm as it soaked through the leather of his gloves. He carried her to the center of her living room and lay her on her very modern, thick, gray patterned rug. To catch her blood from soaking into the floorboards. He tied a washcloth around her wound and from his pocket drew a bronze obol, which he slipped beneath her tongue. She wasn't special in this regard. Kronos wasn't much for superstition, but he didn't relish the whole idea of mortal shades wandering around helplessly. He'd never met Charon personally, but he knew his father Erebus, and he wouldn't put it past an Olympian supporter to leave souls to rot for a century. At least, if they must die, let them go home.
He turned away. And stopped himself. Sighed. Her body was still very warm when his fingers brushed her scalp through his gloves, braiding her hair neatly behind her ears. He drew her eyelids down over her glassy brown eyes. Positioned her nicely although her body had begun to stiffen a little: hands interlaced over her stomach, legs straight. He didn't know where the sudden obsession in making her look honorable in death had come from. Maybe he couldn't leave his granddaughter laying on the floor, dragged from where she'd had her throat slit. Perhaps, Kronos conceded, she was a little special.
Seriously? What was wrong with him? He was going to blame Rhea, for whatever it was. This empathy shit.
Fuck.
"Goodbye, Hazel."
He wiped everything in the room – as a precaution – he knew hadn't left prints, and climbed down her camera-less fire escape. No one was in the alley behind her building. Easy. A couple blocks away, in the trashcan behind a random house in an opposite direction from his new apartment, he threw away his keffiyeh and a few more random paces from that, he abandoned his gloves, jacket, and shoes. He tore his pant-legs away and the sleeves from his shirt, and pulled his hair behind his ears in a tight bun – secured with a rubber band. If anything, he looked like a dead-beat beachcomber; one of the Greek ones that lurked around, scoping out half-naked Swedish girls. Yes, they really existed. And no, it wasn't really a look he liked going for, but useful in a pinch, he supposed. If he headed towards the beach looking this way, and no Greek policeman would bat an eye at an under dressed twenty-something year old Greek man, he could buy some touristy shirt and colorful flip-flops and call it a day. Why the ridiculous get up at the beach? Something about traveling, tourists somehow lose control of not only their money, but their sense of taste too. Poorly dressed, happy, tired people polluted the hotels of Ambassador Street. Rainbow flip-flops and an "I love Athens" t-shirt? Perfect. He'd blend right in. You'd think he had something against tourists, the way he berated them constantly. The contrary. He loved tourists. He'd always found that people, no matter where you went or where they were from, were in fact people when it all boiled down to it. No one was as "different" as they thought. But the shit people do on vacation. Absolutely comedy-gold. No exceptions. Call it his philosophy.
Kronos bought an ice cream on the beach from a cart vendor before he left. It was cold, the night was cold, and the freezing treat settled his turning stomach. He went back to his apartment when the sun was setting and dialed the number Athena had left encoded for him on the landline.
The line had no answering machine message for him, just a harsh beep that signaled he should speak.
"Done. Awaiting further instruction."
Kronos missed the phone's dock when his hand went to put it away. Shaking. And his breathing wasn't right. His heart was racing. He swallowed harshly.
"Get a grip." He told himself. "Just call it a night."
FOUR
He was still fuckin' sleeping when she broke into his apartment.
Well, no. Not sleeping, per se. But he was a little tired. And he hadn't brushed his hair yet. Kronos was walking into his kitchen much closer to naked than anyone other than Rhea should ever have the right to see, hoping to make breakfast for himself. Athena had already helped herself to his coffee and one of his fruits and was sitting on one of his stools at his breakfast bar adjoining the kitchen. Perhaps he'd finally embraced the place as his own.
"What the fuck?" He snatched the half eaten apple from her hand. She raised her eyebrow and wiped her hand back and forth across each other, a disposition of perfect "I don't care" across her face.
She sighed. "I was enjoying that."
"You already took my beer."
"Why aren't you clothed? And it was shit anyway – I did you a favor."
He ignored her. "Why are you in my kitchen?"
Another perfectly poised eyebrow. "I do believe you're the one who claimed you were," she raised her hand in little air quotes – punctuating Kronos' annoyance with every word, ""done" and "awaiting further instruction.""
"Fine. Give them and go."
She snorted, and beneath the marble, crossed her ankles in the other direction. "First, you should know we disposed of Levesque's corpse, very tidy of you to watch the blood flow..." She paused. "Are you listening?"
"No, I'm jacking off. See? I'm naked and everything."
She tutted like, Kronos noted, a fucking bird, but continued as though she hadn't heard him. "This particular job is special." She dipped her chin down, so he could see directly into her gray eyes. He huffed in irritation when she waited for confirmation.
"Okay."
"Thalia Grace."
He almost didn't believe he'd heart correctly. "What?"
She drummed her fingers. "I said-"
"No, no. I heard you, but did you say Thalia Grace?"
"Are you deaf-"
"Are you joking?"
"Of course not." She hissed.
Kronos shook his head and tore open his refrigerator door. A single serving of plain yogurt left in a large container, cranberry juice – when the fuck did he buy that? – and three eggs, one of them hard-boiled. Time for the store. Time for her to leave. He took the yogurt and cut the rest of the apple Athena had started into it. He sat on his countertop in front of her while he ate.
"I'll bite." He said.
He saw her eyes flick up from his lower abdomen, to chest, to his face very quickly. "Excuse me?"
"Why?"
A blank stare. Her cheeks were tinged pink. He would have pretended not to notice her eyes trailing his body, but she was much too obvious. Kronos sighed. Virgins. He rephrased. "Why Thalia?"
She smirked – immediately regaining her composure now that she could claim an air of knowledgeable superiority. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is she dies and that no one knows it was you."
"Really."
"Well," she considered his statement a moment. "No, not really. So long as it doesn't get back to us, it doesn't matter to us at all if you get caught."
That was more like it. "So I can assume if I do get caught, which I won't, I shouldn't hold my breath for you to bail me out?"
She laughed, a hollow sound, void of humor. "Probably best."
Kronos snorted and chewed a chuck of apple with his mouth open – mostly, well, okay – entirely to annoy Athena. He would have grinned ear-to-ear at her repulsed expression if it wouldn't have given him away. He didn't think his state of dress was helping their already rocky relationship much either.
Good.
Leave, woman.
"Then?" He said.
Athena rose from his table and reached into a leather handbag she'd left on the floor. She pulled an envelope from it and handed it to him.
He was still chewing when he asked, "What's this?"
"You'll see." She shrugged the bag over her shoulder. "Let us know when its done."
'You're sure it wasn't some other Thalia Grace?"
She glared.
"It's a common name," his teeth showing in his grin.
She paced to the front door of the flat.
Oh look. It's working.
"I don't want to get in trouble for your mistake." He called after her.
"It's not a mistake." She snipped coolly, without turning back. "Do your job."
His door clicked shut behind her.
He remembered the letter in his hand, the thought of it jarring into his mind only when he looked to set it down. In his kitchen drawer he had his knife, dulled from centuries of misuse, that he used as a letter opener. It caught on the thick parchment, where a single leaflet rested inside the envelope. White paper, clearly lettered in the back with the ominous message:
1/3
It didn't take a genius, really. He flipped the paper in his palms. He sucked in a quick gulp of air. It was Rhea in a dark, indistinguishably plain room. Gray walls, small, gray-framed window somewhere above her head. She held the canonical newspaper in front of her chest, timestamped in its top right corner with the current date. She looked unhappy, but physically unharmed. He stared at it longer than it took him to understand it and then he slipped the paper behind his pillow. He made his bed.
Then he got dressed.
FIVE
Thalia. Fucking. Grace. Daughter of Zeus. Second in command of the modern state of Greece, an absolute hard-ass in just about every foreseeable circumstance, sister of Jason – another badass in his own right – and just an all-round well-known person. Smart assassins generally don't go after well-known people. Leave that to the overly passionate and the insane.
And yet, here we are. Kronos had no choice in this one, not if he wanted Rhea back the "easy way." And really. He was a titan, for crying out loud. One striped of every power he'd ever possessed save his inherent right to live forever, yes, but a titan even still. What was the worst that could happen to him? Prison? For how long? Until the mortals forgot about him? That wouldn't take long. Tartarus, then? Really only Zeus could imprison someone into Tartarus… Would Zeus cast him to Tartarus simply to maintain appearances?
Yes, decided Kronos. Of course he would.
But even that couldn't last forever. He'd never been overly patient as a child, but millennia of living with mortals had vigorously trained his resilience. He could bide his time if he had to. It was all circumstantial anyway – it only pertained if he got caught. And he was Kronos. He wasn't going to get caught.
All this self-bolstering – which Kronos will admit he did while drinking yet another coffee, though this time at home alone – did not answer the question he really wanted answered.
Why Thalia?
The aforementioned accolades normally would make her a shining example of someone Zeus desperately would want to have beside him. Or so Kronos thought. Kronos would certainly want someone was capable as her. What then? Perhaps she was winning the favor of the mortals quicker than Zeus himself was. Like it or not, gods drew their sources of power from mortals. Was it possible for them to blow up the Earth and raise the dead? Of course, but any self-respecting Olympian god didn't care about their own actual ability – they wanted people to adore them. You need mortals for that. It seemed almost plausible to Kronos, in a sorta fucked up way, that Zeus was frightened by Thalia's ever growing popularity.
He pondered over this, maybe for another ten minutes as he finished up breakfast. And then he yawned, stretched, and set his bowl in the sink. It didn't really matter did it? Why Zeus wanted his own daughter dead.
So then, Thalia, Kronos thought to himself almost maniacally. He couldn't help the sliver of a smile. Where do you like to hide?
Well, it wasn't at the dog park like Hazel's haven had been. Nor was it anywhere near the city center. In fact, Kronos had to take a tram to the train station to find Thalia's hide-hole. Of course, when he got there – he stuck out like a sore thumb. Not because he had a knife strapped to his side, no – that was concealed, but because he was literally the only man in the room.
It took him awhile to notice, actually. At first, Kronos just walked into the room without hesitation – it was a public building after all – but a moment later he noticed more than one scared set of eyes focused on him. The first girl he noticed was a teenager, younger looking and round in the face, she sat cross-legged on the floor with a quilt over her shoulders. Her eyes, brown, were wide and fearful, and she drew her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Kronos' furrowed his brow.
Was she scare of him? What? All five foot eight of his intimidating manliness? Gods, maybe he was a hundred seventy pounds dripping wet. Please. He'd decided awhile ago it's what made him a good assassin. Who would suspect someone who looked like a Hobbit extra? Not him.
The second set of eyes were not scared as the first had been. They were fierce and they were a brilliant blue.
"Can I help you?" The annoyed drone came out. A girl, hands on hips, scowl on her face stood before him. He wasn't very tall, much to his chagrin, but this girl was absolutely puny. Maybe she reached the base of this throat, but he doubted it. A streak of dyed hair was stark in contract against her raven locks. Thalia was shorter than he remembered from the night he'd seen her at the hotel, but he wasn't stupid enough to allow that to cause doubt in her ability. He'd heard the stories. The many, many stories.
"Can I help you?" She repeated, a little more forcefully. Her index finger was picking at a silver painted nail. She wore at least four rings.
"I'm lost," he said stupidly. Kronos shrugged and put on his best non-committal grin – hands tucked in pockets. No, it wasn't his best save – but it would have to do. "I was trying to find the train station."
Thalia sized him up and she didn't bother to hide it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She thrust her head suddenly to the left. "That way." And she turned from him.
"Wait, um-" he smiled innocently. His finger wagged around in the air as he asked. "I was wondering, what is this place?"
"When did you say your train left?"
He backpedaled, handed stuffed in his pocket. He could feel his knife waiting for him in his coat pocket, but killing Thalia now, eyes all over him and the girl glaring murder? No, no. "Oh, um, sorry for bothering you." He'd always found people find others less threatening when they stutter. It was a horrendously idiotic assumption and he played it for all it was worth.
"Hm." She licked her lips. He noticed, though he cast his gaze down, her eyes were painted heavily with clotted mascara. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
He tilted his head to the side – chin jutting up a little – dropped his shoulders, deliberately unclenched his hands and cast his eyes up – but not at her. He was going for an innocent, fumbling moron. Call it channeling his brother Krios. "No, I don't think so."
"Your eyes look familiar."
He gave her a bemused smile. "My eyes?" Oh, he knew. His one distinct feature. Brilliantly, golden-y, amber-y eyes. One of very, very few reasons he was unsuitable to be an assassin.
She bought his ruse, somewhat unbelievably. And it wasn't hard to figure out – despite Thalia's lack of response and useless directions – what the building was for. It said on a poster just outside the building.
Aegis
All Women Welcome
The sign was worn in the corners and edges – with dirt and pre-historic water damage. The icon of Medusa's head etched into a shield was plastered above it in greening bronze. Kronos stood there a moment longer than he needed to. Thalia worked in a women's shelter in her spare time. Of course she did. Fuck. Hazel had taken care of homeless dogs and what? Thalia's a saint for abused women? Only he would have the shitty luck of having to kill two of the few selfless people left in this world.
He stewed and stormed and brooded like a child, but only for a moment. Something caught is attention and like a dog with a death wish, he edged closer to it. He heard it before he saw it.
Drip, drip, drip
A drainage pipe leading down from the ceiling of the shelter had sprung a leak just before it reached the spout at the bottom. It pooled in a small mirror of clear rainwater beneath the awning. Normally, no problem. A leaking drainage pipe? What's new? But this was Greece, and although it was just outside of Athens were Kronos lived, he knew – it hadn't rained. In weeks. Someone must have intentionally let water there. Why? When you found a leak, you fixed it. That shit was expensive. Kronos crept toward it. And suddenly it made sense. It was hard to see, but behind the pipe, a small leather pouch was tucked securely underneath a thin layer of dirt. Kronos reached for it.
Three drachma. An obol. A map of the tram system of Athens, with the station beside Ambassador Street circled in red pen. A small charm in the unmistakable shape of trident. The water dribbling from the pipe made for clear means of messaging through water, to water.
Thalia was a spy.
To Kronos, this was an outstanding revelation that put so much into perspective. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Because Thalia was the perfect minion: it'd never even begun to cross Kronos' mind that she could be working for Poseidon. Though, clearly, evidently, she was. That being said, Zeus obviously already knew. Why else would he want Thalia, his aforementioned "perfect minion" dead? He was almost giddy with this news.
So then, what did it mean for Kronos? For Rhea? All elation gone in a moment. Absolutely nothing at all. He still had to "complete the mission," still had to kill Thalia. Nothing had changed. He slipped the small pouch into his coat pocket, as though it would make any difference, and set away from Thalia's women's shelter.
SIX
Plan A would have been a lot easier. The shelter was run-down, unguarded, and the only witnesses might have been some petrified women, who'd earlier been afraid to talk to the unassuming Kronos – much less an actual police officer. Perfect: cut and dry. But no. Maybe three years ago, Kronos might have just killed her there anyway, but he knew it was Rhea that had reborn that nagging little influence in the back of his mind. You can't just kill their only protector in front of them, it whispered, it will destroy them to see their only defense fall. They've suffered enough. Only kill one woman.
"Shuddup," Kronos grumbled to it, as he paced his living room, bare feet digging into the plush carpet. He hated that Zeus could afford such nice things as though they were nothing.
"I haven't said anything yet."
He jumped.
"Athena."
She regarded him coolly from her perch at his breakfast bar. "You're dressed today."
"This is getting old," was his dry comment. Her sour expression didn't change.
"Zeus is curious as to why Thalia was present at today's meeting."
"Doesn't she work for him?" The hint of a smile.
She glowered. "You know what I mean."
"I'm working on it."
Manicured fingers pulled at something inside her cut blazer. An envelope that she placed on his marble table, nails dragging across it making just the slightest sound. The quiet of the room gave it the gravitas of a wreaking ball. Athena cleared her throat. "Consider this incentive to work on it harder."
He waited until she'd slipped through his front door, heels clicking against the hardwood fading out – how had he not heard her enter? - before he warily approached his own table. His memory wasn't that short, he remember what her last gift had contained. This one was no different – except the date printed on the paper had changed to yesterday's and fresh blood had dribbled from the crown of her skull behind her hair down the line of her cheekbone. Rhea was facing the camera expressionlessly, but the pupils of her eyes were horribly uneven; one constricted, the other dilated. Concussed. Badly. Disgust boiled in the titan's stomach.
Alright, Zeus. Message received.
You're a fucking ass-hat.
Kronos stashed her image behind his pillow along with the other envelope he'd been given. He didn't like the fact it was becoming a collection.
He pulled his coat over his shoulders and tucked his knife against his waist. He didn't bother to lock his door.
Unfortunately for Thalia Grace, she was a creature of habit. Everyday she went to a different restaurant for lunch, everyday she walked a slightly different route to work, but every night – without fail – the girl went to the women's shelter. Upon further review, which Kronos had grudgingly done at the Hall of Records, the building had even less defensive measures than he'd first assumed. It'd been built before the new storm building requirements had been enforced; so its walls were thin and made of a cheap wood. No cameras. Very crude locks. But he ended up listening to the voices in his head, as awful as that sounded, meaning he didn't kill her in the women's shelter. No, that was the much easier aforementioned "Plan A."
This was Plan B.
The train to this shit-hole dump of a town was not a busy one – especially the three in the morning one Thalia took. The walk she took to the shelter, the same one Kronos had made, involved basically circumventing some farms on dirty gravel trails. When she started past a wooden barn – old and forgotten and falling down – Kronos was waiting.
In fact, he'd been waiting for thirty minutes – boredly cleaning his nails with the tip of his knife - soaking in the moldy wet scent of the barn. He though it was sorta funny he could hear her before he could see her, heavy, steel-capped combat-style boots crunching the old pebbles into the even older path. Her walk, he could discern from this thundering sound, was brisk and relaxed. Kronos crouched on his toes within the barn, and he leaned forward in his lurch as her footsteps grew louder. The night's air was could and dry against his skin as he poked his head from inside the barn. Something like static reached Kronos in his hiding place.
She rounded the corner just past him – outline of her figure outlined in the starlight. Her dyed hair shone in the full moon. There were only a few clouds tonight, and it was bright and clear. He wouldn't be able to hide in the darkness. He crept closer, his toes soundless against the ground. He ran his foot across the gravel to minimize the impact of his step – the stones rolls a little underneath his feet.
His ears pricked up at the sound of her falter. He saw her turn suddenly, head cast over her shoulder scanning the field to her left – just in front of where he stood. The titan stopped himself from his emergence from behind the barn, leg muscles burning with strain. Her right hand hovered over her hip, fingers bent prematurely – her jaw was tense and locked. An earbud dangled down past her chin, while the other Kronos could only assume was plugged in; the static sound he'd noticed being her music too loud.
"Hello?" Said Thalia with an almost cautious tone. The wind was her only answer. Kronos could see her hesitate on her heels. She relented with a physical shrug, but her pace was quicker when she started walking again and her shoulders were still very tense. His legs were screaming at him. Kronos leaned forward finally, and Thalia didn't appear to hear him. He'd taken extra precaution to lift his foot this time lest it scrap against the gravel again.
Now, despite most people's rudimentary skill in it – sneaking up on someone is not easy. At all. Especially when they're already cautious because you fucked up and especially on a gravel road in the middle of the absolute brightest night Kronos had remembered seeing in at least twenty years. Regardless, Kronos was giving it a solid effort, low to the ground, perched up on his toes, knife – secured tightly in his left hand – gleaming in the moonlight.
Toe to heel, toe to heel.
She was moving quickly, which made it difficult for him to catch her and remain silent both, but he'd cut down the space between to nearly four feet before Thalia paused very suddenly, and turned on her heel.
What was he going to do? It was a full moon – and it's not like he could dive in the field to hide himself in the maybe three millimeters of grass that was there. They'd left the barn a good twenty paces behind them.
Thalia's wide blue eyes met his. Her face seemed ghostly in the moonlight, usually pale and gaunt in its strange shadows. It was a silent standstill, maybe two, three seconds of detained breath. Kronos leaped from his position. With a shushed yelp, Thalia staggered backward. But of course, she had never been one unprepared. From her belt, she drew a xiphos, a kind of sword Kronos had not seen for anything but ceremony in at least a millennia, and swung wildly in the vague location of his skull.
Which, mind you, really, he didn't appreciate.
Kronos threw himself at the ground, tucking in his knees and arms to his chest in an attempt to roll behind her. The gravel that flew towards him in a sudden flurry let him know she hadn't been deceived and was facing him. The sword plowing into the ground where he'd just been standing was a clue as well. He sprang from the ground with the momentum he'd built in his roll and Thalia found herself mere inches away from Kronos – arm still wide away from her, sword behind Kronos. A non-defensible stance.
"He-" She'd begun to say. She coughed. And wheezed. Another cough had blood dripping from her lips. In comparison to the pale of her face in the light, her blood was a dark, dismal crimson.
Hey eyes trailed down her own body, only to find Kronos' knife lodged between her ribs – where her lung should be. And… probably was. He'd twisted the blade brutally and he knew fragments of her bone had shattered away and pierced her lung. He knew she was going to drown in her own blood.
It wasn't the painless and quick death he usually liked to bestow.
A clatter as her sword slipped from her grip.
He pulled his dagger from her chest. Without the support, she fell to the floor.
"I-" She began, blood pooling around her lips, around the floor nearest her chest. A pained cough. She wriggled a little, reminding the titan of a baby trying to learn to walk, hands shaking desperately. Her eyes were blinking rapidly, her chest expanding and contracting harshly. Her fingers crawled blindly across the gravel trail for her sword.
Kronos kneeled down above her and without hesitation, slashed her throat.
She did not move again.
He dragged her corpse back to the barn, blood seeping and leaving a trail behind them on the pebbles. He didn't really care. Zeus could clean up the mess this time. Kronos stashed her behind a hay stack, her legs and arms wedged up on top her chest in the tight space. As he'd done with his other granddaughter, the titan remembered the obol he'd found in the water behind the women's shelter and slipped it into her mouth beneath her tongue. He drew the pads of his fingers across her young, delicate face to close her eyes.
Later that night, perhaps it'd been hours since he'd returned to Zeus' flat – he couldn't tell anymore, he dialed the preset number again. This time, he told them of a different death. Thalia's.
"Awaiting further instruction." He echoed precisely how he'd done so with Hazel. The pad of his thumb pressed into the bright red "end call."
He could hear the dial tone follow him as he left the room.
SEVEN
Agata had actually cleaned her floors, Kronos noted with muted shock as he stood to order a coffee, a latte this time, and take his usual place at the table in the corner. Despite the fact he now technically lived in the Olympic District, he couldn't bring himself to drink any of their pretentious coffee off their stick-free tables. No. This was the place. The wrinkles around Agata's eyes crinkled kindly at him when she smiled. Her eyes, he saw, were a little wet and rimmed too-red around the edges, as though she had allergies, or Gaia-forbid maybe she'd been crying. He really hoped she hadn't been crying. The atmosphere of the cafe, despite the new sense of cleanliness, was more dreary than Kronos seemed to remember, and an almost lackadaisical lethargic pace had settled over the city. He was trying not to freak out, but it was a weird, mourning sort of demure that blanketed them all. Agata tried for up-beat. "It's been awhile, Corax."
"Yeah." The titan's voice sounded more tired than he'd intended. Maybe the city was influencing him too. "It has." Find something friendly to say. "New bus boy?"
Agata turned to him, maybe seventeen – a little too slender, looking almost a little stunned he was actually doing his job. "Yes, he's been a real help." A pause. "Where's our Rhea?"
He ignored her. "Good, good." The titan hesitated after he'd placed his change in her collection jar. He watched as her hands shook as she pulled him a fresh scone off a still-hot baking sheet on the back counter. "You alright, Agata?"
The woman let out a huff and licked her lips. Her eyes searched him. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard?"
She ran her hand across the bottom of her nose in an almost subconscious movement. Kronos furrowed his eyebrows.
"She's..." a catch in her voice, "she's dead."
"Who?"
"Thalia." A crack. "Thalia Grace. She was such a nice girl." Agata brought the edge of her apron to her eyes.
Oh.
"You knew her?"
She shook her head fervently. "No, no, but the girls she helped," hand to her mouth, "oh, they must be devastated. Such a nice girl."
What should he say? What could he say that wasn't a barefaced lie? "I'm sorry to hear that."
Agata mumbled to herself, wringing her hands. "Don't you worry about it, Corax – I'm sure the Olympians will find that bastard soon." The plate she pushed towards him with his pastry was still a little warm from the washing water. "You keep our Rhea safe, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded.
Kronos moved to his table.
He had his laptop with him, open and ready and hands hovering over the keyboard, but he couldn't move himself to type. What was there to do other than wait for Athena's next assignment? He'd received the Olympian's morbid congratulatory letter – Rhea's head thankfully bandaged and her pupils even – freshly timestamped newspaper and all. It'd been slipped beneath his door, by who he couldn't guess. He'd brought to his lips, kissed it, and slipped it beneath his pillow.
He drummed his fingers across the table.
His computer was cheerfully displaying his background image at him – a picture he'd taken of Rhea at the Acropolis. It was probably tacky, skyline of the city in the background, flag of Greece to the side, Rhea facing out to the setting sun – dress whipping around her legs. The fact Kronos had taken the picture with Rhea's iPhone made it all the more grainy. He'd taken her here – not once or twice – but nearly every morning after that first night in his apartment. Kronos thought he should have taken her somewhere nicer, but Rhea had seemed charmed by the fact the owner knew his name… sort of.
She'd laughed it off to him after the heavy-set had stopped fawning over her that they're table. In a sing-song voice she teased him, "Corax got a girlfriend."
"Shuddup."
A laugh like music to him. "Corax?"
He couldn't help but smile. "What? I like it."
A raised eyebrow. She enunciated each syllable. "Corax."
"It means "Crow"."
"I'm Greek too. I know what it means."
"Well?" He grinned. "Seems fitting." He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up. Rhea quickly tried to tame it. "Didn't you used to call me Crow?" A laugh bubbled from his chest. "'Cause my hair looks like feathers? Well, it's still black, still spiky."
"I like Kronos."
"Kronos?" He jested with fake hurt, "Yes, Miss Agata, I am named after the child-eating titan that fathered our evil Olympian overlord. My parents were hippies."
She shook her head. The edge of her lips curled up towards her eyes. The garish light of the cafe did beautiful things to her eyes when she looked toward him. "This," pastry in hand, "is a good scone."
Now Kronos stared at his scone, steam still rising from it. Almond-flavored, with dried cherries. His favorite. Rhea's favorite. How pathetic was it that it felt like a scone was mocking him? He couldn't take it.
"Agata?" he called over the clamor.
"Yes, love?" Her hesitance made him crumbled inside. Why did it have to be Thalia?
"Could I take this in a bag to go?"
Old lines smoothed out across her face as she relax into a smile.
"Of course."
It wasn't hard to tell, after that, what had come over the city. They were mourning Thalia. And the one's who weren't were comforting someone who was. She'd been more of a local hero than Kronos had ever given her credit for. He felt queasy like he hadn't in years walking through the city, paper bag holding his pastry soaking with his sweat. He wanted to be sick. He just about fell past his door frame.
His nose twisted and his eyes narrowed. "Athena."
The ever-noble woman raised her chin. "Kronos."
"Who?"
She sniffed. "Really, we should discu-"
"I don't care," Kronos snarled. "Just tell me who."
Athena took her time, crossing her ankles just so before her perfectly straight back and folded hands delivered her ultimatum.
"Perseus Jackson." A wicked smile. "You remember him, right?"
EIGHT
Kronos had always known about the Nightguard. Everyone knew per se, but it'd never been an issue for anyone. So long as you were home before the state mandated curfew, they wouldn't give you trouble. Of course, after Thalia's death, the Olympians – namely Zeus – had to give the illusion of at least some care for her death. He'd delivered a sniffling speech, televised of course to the entire country, mourning the death of his daughter, demanding justice for her murder. It might have been a good show too, all those crocodile tears for the benefit of the camera, if Kronos didn't know the truth. Hell, the fucker had collected all the big-wigs to be there and everything. However, Zeus was not about to be outdone by anyone in theatrics, and so, his guise had to be more than just tears. Hence, the aforementioned "Nightguard." Monsters like harpies disguised as legitimate police officers. Their number had been doubled since Thalia's murder to keep up the charade and the ever present curfew, which, honestly, Kronos had never paid any mind to, had been moved up three hours – into when it there was still daylight. People complained, of course, but what were they to do? Stand outside with little paper pickets and get eaten by a harpy? Poor mortals.
Kronos, for one, hadn't been up to much since he'd assigned to kill Percy. He'd ordered pizza to his door twice in the last week and had mostly filled up his nights watching tv and called it "avoiding the Nightguard." He took a sort of smug joy in knowing that whoever was watching him on the not-so-subtle security cameras was probably bored out of their mind. Look, it was bad enough to be commissioned into killing his two granddaughters, but he'd actually spoken to Percy before. If he'd thought he'd been hesitant with Hazel or Thalia, this was ridiculous.
It was nighttime now, after the new curfew the Olympians had enforced. Kronos had run out of pizza, unfortunately, and it being after curfew – no sensible mortal would be out delivering more. This meant Kronos had to cook. Sigh. He'd thrown every vegetable in his fridge onto a baking sheet with some salt. Yummy, really, but a bit of a let down after a days of pizza if he was being perfectly honest. He'd just begun to eat, legs crossed underneath him on the floor in front of the couch. When the first knock had sounded at the door – Kronos had initially assumed it was Athena having learned her lesson after his being naked when she didn't announce herself politely. No time like the present to develop some manners right?
"Look," he was already saying when he swung open the door, "I'm working as quick-" He blinked at the blue eyes boring into his from above. Kronos didn't think he was very short, though, he would admit, he wasn't especially tall either, and was not used to having to crane his neck practically vertical to see someone's eyes. He supposed it was accentuated by the fact the giant kept creeping toward him. The newscast made him seem a little less imposing when he was standing next to Zeus.
"Um," Kronos stepped back. "Jason?"
The teenager, muscles taunt and face gaunt, swallowed visibly as he took another daring step forward.
"You're… you're Kronos, right?" He asked, voice like a very tightly wound string, high, and pitchy, and fragile.
The titan blinked. "Yes?"
And then all hell broke loss.
Jason lunged at Kronos, switchblade he'd kept carefully tucked away behind his back swinging out from behind him. Kronos threw himself to the floor, head bowed down as he landed on his side. He scrambled on his hands and feet to move away from the son of Zeus. Jason though, the lucky bastard, was still standing, and easily caught up with Kronos and his weird, backwards army crawl. The metal of the blade flashed, reflecting the light of Kronos' kitchen. Jason swung down to his throat. The recoil Kronos managed to achieve on the floor was reminiscent of an acrobat – his back absolutely fully pronated. The titan saw his opportunity. Kronos kicked his leg up, his body fell from out behind him, but his foot made purchase into Jason's stomach. The demigod coughed violently and his arms curled into his waist. As Kronos had predicted. Slamming his hands into the floor below them, Kronos pushed his body off the ground and into Jason's face. The son of Zeus, still stunned and tight, yelped when Kronos threw his entire weight into him. Hey, he was the smallest of eighteen children – most (all) of whom where bigger than him. He knew how to fight someone twice his size.
Jason, who'd not yet managed to actually clear the doorway, fell back onto his head first, unsupported back second, with Kronos straddling his stomach in the open doorway. Kronos hear something crack. The two fumbled for the knife, a battle which Kronos, straining with every fucking muscle in his body, won. Jason's hands were lethargic and shaking. Kronos held the blade to his throat.
"What the hell?" He seethed, leaning down over Jason's face – close enough he could see his breath blow his bangs from his face. "We're on the same team, right?"
Jason spat. The spittle ran down the titan's cheek. Kronos drove his elbow down into Jason's gut. A wheeze.
"You killed the Thalia."
"Of course I did."
Jason's pupils constricted. "Why?"
"What do you mean why?"
The demigod coughed again, a horrible sound. Blood trickled down the side of cheek from the part in his lips. The boy, Kronos realized, was working too hard to breathe.
"Jason?" Kronos slapped his cheek, not gently. "Jason!"
Up in an instant, Kronos ran to the landline Athena had installed for him. His fingers were steady and he was calm as he dialed.
"Hey." He said, terse, when the dispatcher answered the phone. "Ambulance. Now."
NINE
"I'll give it to you," he said plopping down in the chair beside Jason, "you got balls."
Sea green eyes blinked at him. Percy licked his lips. "I guess so."
"Seriously." Kronos leaned his cheek onto his fist – elbow balanced on the armrest, "they want you dead."
"I know."
"Do you?" When he didn't answer, "then you know they hired me to kill you."
Percy sighed and took the chair beside all the beeping mortal machines Kronos couldn't name. Jason's heart was still beating, a listless fifty beats a minute, but he hadn't woken up since he'd attacked Kronos two days ago. "We're cousins." He said this softly, like it were some grand secret. "I have to see him." The son of Poseidon motioned toward a vase of flowers on Jason's bedside table. "See? Even you brought flowers."
Kronos snorted. "I'm the reason he'll be paralyzed for the rest of his life. That is, if he wakes."
Percy looked away, and rubbed his hands together nervously.
He hadn't been Kronos' intention, of course. Jason's fall, the crack that Kronos had heard, had been one of the demigod's lower vertebrae fracturing into about six pieces – which severed part of his spinal cord. He'd be very lucky to ever feel his legs again, much less walk on them. Kronos had physically spent his time since the fight languorously flitting back and forth between Jason's hospital room and his apartment. Mentally, he'd been wondering why the fight had happened at all. He knew it had something to do with Thalia, hell, he'd be pissed off too if someone had murdered his sister – but Kronos had been under the impression that everyone in Zeus' inner sanctum knew of Thalia's betrayal. Knew of the plan to "rid" of her. Was it possible that Jason had been left out? That maybe he was an agent of Poseidon too? Kronos eyed Percy, who was downright nebbish in his crouch over his unconscious cousin. Somehow he doubted it. Percy met his imploring gaze. "Kronos?"
They were saved by the bell, so to speak, a man in a long white coat and shining golden hair. Kronos thought he was attractive – in a cute Labrador-puppy sort of way. He smiled brightly at the two of them, completely misreading the atmosphere of the room. Attractive and oblivious. A good combination. "Friends of Jason's?" He chirped, mindlessly running his fingers against the machine, checking all sorts of this and that. Kronos noted he smelled strongly of disinfectants and vaguely floral soaps.
"Something like that," the titan answered for them.
"Good, good." The doctor wasn't really listening.
"Doctor Solace?" Someone said from the hallway.
All three of the occupants looked to the door. Kronos saw the doctor flush a little, in his cheeks and saw him stand up straighter. A hand through his hair. Preening himself. Like a fucking peacock. The titan hid his smile.
"You're needed-" The pale man in the doorway paused. His hair was a dark, dark black – and in comparison to his pale, pale skin; Kronos thought he looked like a corpse walking. Fragile webs of greenish veins stood-out on his wrist and neck. "Percy?"
The son of Poseidon was already gawking. "Nico? You're alive?"
Kronos raised an eyebrow.
Doctor Solace looked nervous, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two. "You two… know each other?" Desperation dripping off his voice. Aw, poor somebody had a crush.
"What about Bianca? I thought you wer-"
"Cousins." The one called Nico sniped to the doctor. His eyes narrowed at Percy. "We're cousins."
"Son of a bitch." Kronos leaned back into his chair. "Another one?" He waved away all the confused looks from the boys in the room. He mused to himself. "When my children are going to discover what a condom is?"
Nico snapped his attention back to Percy. "He's-"
"Yeah."
A bony finger in Kronos' general direction. "As in-"
"Yeah."
"Really."
Percy nodded.
"Um," Doctor Solace waddled over to Nico. "Who is he?"
A blank stare. Goodness, the boy had bags under his eyes and his lip twitched up in annoyance at every question thrown at him. It would be cute, thought Kronos, to see those two together. Like a cat and a dog. Nico counted off a list on his fingers. "Uh, let's see: Titan of Time and Agriculture. Lord of the Crooked Paths. The Crafty Councilor. King of the Titans. Husband and consort of the all-mother Rhea. Father of Zeus-"
"For fuck's sake," he shrugged away their stares. "Kronos." A collective intake. The titan resisted rolling his eyes. "My name? And it is just a name. Use it – that's what it's for."
"But-"
"Just don't wear it out."
A soft tap at the door frame.
'Great," grumbled Kronos, "it's a party now."
Solace's jaw dropped. "My, my lord-" he fell to his knees. "Lord Poseidon."
The sea god, to his credit, waved off the supplication modestly, "No, no. Please rise." Shakily, Solace came to his feet with a horridly confused look; probably as to why their was a god in the room and no one else had shown any sort of respect. Seemed a reasonable question.
"Dad." Said Percy from his chair.
Solace whirled around. "This is your-"
"Uncle." Nico interrupted.
"He's your-"
"Child." Kronos added amused. He liked this doctor.
Solace found a chair to plop himself into by the beeping machine.
A polite and genteel nod, "Percy, Nico..." An almost amused smirk. "Kronos."
The titan smiled.
"What's going on?" Asked Percy, back straight in his seat.
Poseidon seat himself much more gracefully than the doctor had, on foot of Jason's bed. He took great care not to smush Jason's feet beneath the covers. The room was clean, and very white, and sanitized, and small and so Poseidon's knees were mere inches from Kronos. When the god leaned forward toward him, his feet rested maybe only a foot or two away. He could feel the god's breath.
How grossly intimate.
"Kronos," he began, and then, in a Greek the titan had not heard in years, "we need your help."
The titan drew his legs beneath his chair.
"Zeus has let this world fall apart-"
"You've given this speech before."
Poseidon held up a hand, fingers together. His eyes slid closed as he waited for Kronos to finish. "This time is different."
"How's that?"
"Because they want you to kill Percy."
"And?"
"Um-" the doctor interjected, "what's going-"
"Shut it," hissed Nico, craning over to eavesdrop as best he could. Ancient Greek wasn't so terribly different from modern. Any honest to Zeus Greek child would have had classes in it.
"And?" Kronos implored, ignoring them.
"And I know of Rhea." He paused for emphasis. Fuck. Kronos hated when he did that. "So I only need you to do one thing for me."
"Which is?"
"Help me pull of the scam of the century." A little quirk up of his lips. "Fake Percy's death for me and then you and Rhea can go free."
"I'm calling bullshit."
But hell, he was serious wasn't he?
Poseidon shook his head. His eyes were downcast. "We Olympians have made you suffer enough, Kronos, this I believe full-heartedly. Do this for me, and I will set you free – give you passage to whatever country you'd wish to go to, with some money to get you started." Poseidon's hands were warm and calloused when they took Kronos'. "I mean it."
There was silence for a moment – a familiar sound; cars bustling on a distant motorway, people talking, footsteps, the buzzing of power-lines, whirling of air conditioning, the gentle screeching of the tram lines. Birds chirping. Wind blowing. He could hear the waves, always, a distant crash against the shore. All sounds of Athens. Of Greece. Sounds Kronos had known for millennia. Oh, he could fake Percy's death alright, but could he leave? It'd seemed he'd always known Greece. He berated himself internally, now was not the time to be sentimental. Now was the time to make a decision. Leave now? Or live this way for the rest of time?
"Or," Poseidon started. "Another option."
"Is?"
He licked his lips. "Help us."
Kronos had once been an idealist, like Poseidon was now. Maybe that's why he said what he did.
"I do this, and you promise me that Rhea goes back to America free."
Poseidon's brow furrowed. "I promise."
"Swear it."
"I swear it… What about you?"
"I swear I will carry out your plan."
Poseidon forced the titan to meet his eyes. "That's not what I meant."
Kronos curled his toes in his sandals. Exhaled deeply. There were maybe things he thought to say. Zeus has ruined the word. The earth is suffering. People are suffering. How he could do nothing for him, not without his magic. A whole speech, he could give came to him in an instant. But brevity has always been the soul of wit, hasn't it?
"Enough."
Do I have an excuse for how long this took me? No. Is the next going to be any faster? Of course not! ...Sorry guys. I really did mean to post this before my birthday. When was my birthday you ask? ...I really don't want to admit it... Hope you guys are enjoying this story, but really, I can't lie to you, it just gets weirder from here... :P As always, let me know if you see any mistakes, etc. And to the reviewer who mentioned the brunette thing... you're totally right and i knew that I swear! XD I'll go back and fix it. One part to go, please leave a review for me! Let me know what you think.
