In the Blood

15 NEW GODS ARISE

On I-205 Between Damascus and Portland

March 22

ALEX LYONS STEERED HIS Dodge Ram along I-205 north, headed for Portland to pick up more material for Athena’s experiments. She slept, but he knew it’d be brief, even with the drugs. Her restless mind would soon have her on her feet, chasing her thoughts.

Inferno’s music pounded from the truck’s speakers, filled the cab with raging, sharp-edged sound. Dante’s voice snaked around Alex’s awareness, husky and heated.

I’m waiting for you / I’ve watched / and watched / I know your every secret…

I don’t think so, Alex thought. But I know yours. An insistent off note trilled underneath the music and Alex realized his cell was ringing. Muting the music, he pulled the Ram over into the emergency lane and stopped. He flicked on the hazard lights. He yanked the cell from his hoodie pocket. The ID read unknown.

Thumbing the answer button, he said, “Lyons.”

“Did your meeting with Heather Wallace produce anything of interest?” His SB contact’s voice was smooth and deep and slightly nasal. A New England native, Alex mused, maybe Boston.

“Nothing new,” Alex said. “She kept everything close to the vest. She’s smart enough to know she’s being watched, pumped for info.”

“She said nothing about Prejean? Or Bad Seed?”

“No.”

“And nothing about Moore or the events at the center, I imagine.”

“You imagine right.”

His contact sighed. “Ah, well, it probably wouldn’t have made much difference even if she had, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Alex went still, listening carefully for nuance.

“She’ll be joining your father in…retirement.”

“Is that necessary?” Alex asked.

“Yes.”

Alex pictured Heather’s lovely heart-shaped face, her deep blue eyes. Remembered what she’d asked of him: Could you keep my father in the dark? And his promise. “I learned some interesting info about Wallace, indirectly,” he said.

“And that would be?”

“It wasn’t luck or prompt medical attention that saved her life like she claims. Dante Prejean healed her, but he did it without using his blood.”

“Interesting, indeed. I also find it interesting that you didn’t give up that fact until after I mentioned Wallace’s retirement.”

A cold sweat beaded Alex’s forehead. “Sorry, I just thought of it.”

“Is there anything else I should know? Anything else you just thought of?”

Alex paused before replying, pretending to give it thought. “No.”

The line went dead, his contact’s typical good-bye. Alex slid his cell phone back into his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the heel of his hand. He hoped he’d bought Heather more time; hoped the SB would be more interested in studying her now than in ending her life. She was smart and sexy and full of secrets, one of which they now shared.

I’ll keep your old man in the dark.

Alex switched off the hazard lights and, hitting the gas, merged the Ram back into traffic. A few drops of rain hit the windshield and he clicked on the wipers. Inferno shredded the silence, Dante’s whispered lyrics slicing to the bone like a razor-edged shank.

Break me / I’m daring you / see if you can / break me / with your whispers and your lies / fucking break me / with your kiss / I’m daring you / put me on my knees / see if you can…

The Ram’s headlights silhouetted a figure walking backward in the emergency lane, thumb out. Alex lifted his foot off the gas and guided the truck off the road. Even before he’d stopped, the figure was loping toward the truck.

A moment later the passenger-side door yanked open and a rush of cool, rain-laden air swirled into the cab. A youthful, bearded face poked inside. “How far you going?”

“Portland,” Alex said.

“Cool, that works.” The hitchhiker tossed his stained and road-weathered backpack onto the floorboards and climbed into the passenger seat. He fastened his seat belt and grinned. “Thanks, man.” His damp, collar-length hair curled at the edges.

“Sure,” Alex said, returning the hitchhiker’s grin. “You’re doing me a favor too.”

“By keeping you awake?”

“By helping me out with an errand.”

The hitchhiker’s grin faded. “What kinda errand?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to do anything.” Telekinetic energy surged through Alex, rushing up his spine, electric and tingling, as he focused it on his passenger.

Energy snapped against the hitchhiker, pinning him to the seat and knocking the air from his lungs. The hitchhiker gasped. The hair on his head and beard lifted. His eyes widened as he flailed to free himself, but remained right where he was, held by invisible hands.

Alex reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled the syringe free. “You’re saving me a lot of time and trouble,” he said over the hitchhiker’s panicked grunts. “Now I won’t have to arrest another unlucky vagrant camping under the Burnside Bridge.”

Alex wondered what Athena hoped to accomplish with her experiments. He knew she was trying to emulate what she’d seen Dante do to Johanna Moore, fascinated with the idea of unmaking.

How else will I understand him?

Alex didn’t have an answer for that, but the experiments kept her happy and occupied and that was all that mattered.

Sometimes Alex lay awake at night, listening to the Athena-wind rushing through the house and pictured her spinning out of control. Murdering their parents. Torching the main house. He could even smell the acrid smoke, hear the fire crackling, felt its heat tighten the skin on his face.

Call me Hades.

Then he’d remember the Bad Seed CD he’d watched of beautiful fourteen-year-old Dante murdering his abusive foster parents, then torching their house. And Alex would grow calmer. Perhaps such scenes were rites of passage. Fires to forge and temper blades of flesh.

When the old gods are slain, the new gods arise, drenched in blood.

So it was. So it would ever be.

“Amen, brother,” Alex murmured, then jabbed the needle into the hitchhiker’s throat and thumbed the plunger.