Complete Nothing (6 page)

“Trust me. This, you’ll want to hear,” he said.

He glanced furtively at the kitchen windows. Hephaestus gazed out at us for a moment, before turning and moving out of sight. My interest was piqued, much to my chagrin. The very idea of giving my father the satisfaction of bending to his will made my skin crawl.

“Is this about Hephaestus?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And your mother.”

My stomach twisted in a slow, prickling vortex. I stared into my father’s dark eyes. “No. Please. Don’t tell me—”

“They were lovers,” my father said. “Many moons ago. In fact, they were once married.”

“What?” I gasped.

“This was before your mother and I truly knew each other,” he said. “Before you, your brothers and, of course, your sister.”

My sister. Harmonia. A million images of her smiling at Hephaestus, standing by his side, accepting his gifts, his touch, his attention, flitted through my mind at once. Hot acid arose in the back of my throat and I turned around, trying to shake the visions from my mind. As long as I’d known Hephaestus, he’d been my sister Harmonia’s constant companion. They’d never been more than friends, but I’d always expected their relationship to turn in that direction, until the day Hephaestus was flung out of Mount Olympus for good. It was the only way I’d ever known him—as my sister’s almost-love. The very thought that he had ever been with my mother . . .

“How could I not know this?” I asked, facing Ares again.

“We swore we’d never speak of it,” my father said. He walked over to a wooden swing that hung from an oak tree by two thick cords of rope. With a tug, he tested their might, then sat. The bough moaned, but held. I almost laughed at the sight of this hulking man, this legendary warrior, perched on a child’s plaything. Almost. “I’m surprised that after the amount of time he spent with Harmonia, he never broke that promise.”

He pondered this curious show of integrity for a moment, gazing
off at the rose hedge near the fence, then fixed me with a serious stare.

“Hephaestus fell in love with your mother upon first sight and courted her for years. She wanted nothing to do with him, of course, Hephaestus being lame from birth and constantly smelling of the forge. He was never your mother’s type.”

He gave a wry laugh, but I wasn’t amused. I had always detested how the upper gods insisted on branding Hephaestus as lame. He’d had a withered leg at birth but had forged himself a brace that allowed him to walk just like any other god (this, a part of his history he
had
shared with Harmonia and me). It was Zeus’s fault that he was now confined to a wheelchair. He had flung Hephaestus to Earth so many times he’d shattered his legs irreparably.

“How did he win her, then?” I asked.

There was a glint in my father’s eye as he answered this. “He forged a belt for her, made of gold and jewels. No one had ever seen anything like it. And you know your mother. She’s easily distracted by anything”—he twiddled his fingers, searching for the word— “shimmery.”

Now I did laugh. “That was all it took?”

“That was all it took,” he said, tearing a bloom off a low branch on the dogwood and holding it between two fingers with a delicacy I didn’t know he possessed. “They were married the following dawn. And they were happy. For a time.”

“Until you came along?” I surmised.

My father stared at the flower, the deep pink at the center fading to white near the edges of the petals. “Yes. Until I came along. Your mother and I fell deeply in love with each other, but she didn’t want to leave Hephaestus. She didn’t want to break her vows. Then, one day, he . . . caught us together in their bed.”

He crushed the flower in his mighty fist, and my stomach turned. “I think I might actually be sick.”

“He had suspected something was going on and had set a trap—a golden net that no one, not even I, could tear through. It fell upon your mother and me and held us fast against the sheets. Then, while we were struggling to break free, Hephaestus gathered every god and goddess he could find—including Zeus, who had approved their match—and brought them to witness our shame.”

My hand was at my throat. “That’s . . . awful.”

My father opened his fingers and looked down at the flattened bloom as if he’d forgotten it was there. He turned his palm sideways, and a stiff breeze tore the sticky, creased petals from his skin.

“We fled to Mount Etna for a time, and that’s where we had the boys. I’ve always wondered if the reason they are the way they are is because of where they were conceived.”

My older brothers, Deimos and Phobos, were the Gods of Fear and Panic, and the most paranoid, miserable, tetchy gods on Mount Olympus.

“We waited to return to the Mount before having you girls,” he finished. “Which might be why you are the way you are.”

He smiled slightly, and I detected a hint of pride in his eyes. As if that was even possible. The God of War had long made it known how little respect he had for the work my mother and I did. And I couldn’t imagine he had any softer feelings for Harmonia, who was the Goddess of Communal Harmony. Her work directly rebutted his.

“Your mother was always wary of the friendship your sister formed with Hephaestus, concerned he might try to use her in some way to get back at us for our betrayal,” my father continued. “She was never able to rest well until the day Zeus finally banished him
to Earth for good. Which is why I was shocked to see him sitting so comfortably at your kitchen table. I’m surprised your mother even allowed him to enter your home.”

“Well, as she said, he’s been invaluable to us,” I said. “Before he arrived, we could scarcely dress ourselves. If it wasn’t for his intervention, I might not have made my first match.”

“But you seem to have your footing now,” my father said, rising. “What reason is there to keep him around?”

My jaw dropped. “Oh, I don’t know . . . loyalty, gratitude, friendship?”

“Friendship? Loyalty? Have you heard anything I’ve just said? Or was your mind off in the clouds again, as always?” my father thundered. “Why can you never simply focus, Eros? The man cannot be trusted.”

I felt as if I’d been slapped. “I
am
focused. I’m focused on finishing my mission! A mission I wouldn’t be succeeding at if not for Hephaestus. A mission I wouldn’t even be
saddled with
if not for
you
! You really think you’re the god who should be telling me who to trust?”

“I am not responsible for you being here,” he replied tersely. “It was your own bad judgment that got you into this mess.”

I felt the sting of this and looked at the ground. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should have gone straight to Zeus when I realized I loved Orion and asked him for his blessing—”

“Are you mad? Zeus would have smote him on the spot,” Ares interjected.

“But you just said—”

“Your bad judgment was falling in love with him in the first place! Nay, saving him from his perch among the stars in the first place!”

“But I didn’t do that on purpose! I had no idea I had such power!” I replied.

“Exactly!” my father thundered. He sucked in air, his chest heaving, and wiped his face with both hands. With a desperate look in his eye, he took a step toward me. I flinched when he reached for my hands, but he took them within his anyway, his touch absurdly cautious. “Eros, don’t you understand what’s going on here? Your powers have grown. They
are
growing. I’ve been watching you. I know you’ve regained your telekinesis.”

I lost my breath. “What?”

“You were not supposed to have the power to return Orion to life, and you should not have the power to recall your abilities to yourself now that you’re human. Zeus is baffled by you right now. Baffled and afraid.”

“You’re saying . . . you’re saying that no one has gifted me with this ability? That I am somehow overcoming Zeus’s magic?” I stammered. I had thought that one of the upper gods, perhaps even Zeus himself, had allowed my power to return as a sort of prize for forming my first couple. Had even hoped this was true, because it would mean that Zeus’s anger at me was softening. But this . . . this was impossible to comprehend. “You believe Zeus . . . fears me?”

“He has always feared what he does not understand,” my father said. “How do you think Hera keeps him in line? Women have always baffled him.”

He smirked and I tried to smile, but I felt an awful, twisting ache of confusion inside me. “Why is this happening?”

“Love is one of the most powerful, audacious emotions in the universe,” my father said. “And you harness it. I’m not surprised your powers have grown. I only fear they will lead you into peril.”

I stared at my father. Never in my existence had he looked at me with such concern, such reverence, such . . . love.

“Eros, hear me now, because I might not be able to return to check on you after this trip. I want you to promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “Zeus won’t notice the odd use of telekinesis here or there, but if you must use it, keep it small. Do nothing to draw his attention or his ire. Of course, if Artemis comes calling . . .”

I gulped. “Yes?”

“If Artemis comes calling, hit her with everything you’ve got,” he said, cupping my cheek with his calloused hand.

My heart, my throat, my eyes were full. Just to know my father actually cared about me, that he was keeping an eye on me, that he was protecting me, was overwhelming.

“I promise,” I said throatily. “I swear I won’t let you down.”

*  *  *

After approaching a few random people in town, asking if they were looking for love, and having them back away from me as if I were a rabid dog, I realized I’d be better off concentrating my efforts at school as originally planned. I returned home at dusk feeling tired, discouraged, and on edge, expecting at every turn to find Artemis and Apollo around the bend. What I needed was a nice long bath. Something to refresh and invigorate me for tomorrow. But when I shoved open the door to the bathroom, my mother was kicked back in the claw-foot tub, encased in lavender-scented bubbles.

“Eros! You startled me!” she said, hand to her heart. Her short blond hair was pulled back in a bristly ponytail, and her face was covered in some sort of blue goop. “You musn’t barge in on people when errant gods and goddesses could be on the loose.”

She lifted a sponge and squeezed it out over one extended, willowy arm.

“So,” I said, closing the door behind me. “You and Hephaestus? That’s fairly disturbing.”

Her arms dropped back into the tub with a splash. “I’m going to slaughter your father.”

“At least he was honest with me!” I protested, sitting atop the closed toilet seat. “You should have told me the day Hephaestus showed up on our doorstep.”

My mother sat up straight, sloshing water and bubbles onto the floor. “What would have been the point? We swore to keep it a secret. Not that that matters to your father. Besides, what Hephaestus and I had ended badly. And it ended badly thousands and thousands of years ago. It hardly matters now.”

“But do you really think we can trust him?” I asked quietly, leaning forward. “Are you sure he doesn’t want to use our situation to get back at you somehow?”

My mother clucked her tongue, and her blue eyes were almost pitying. “You have too much of your father in you. Not everyone holds a grudge, and even if they do, they don’t necessarily act upon it. Hephaestus has been in love with your sister for several millennia. He would no more hurt her family than she would start a war.”

I sighed and looked down at the blue-and-white tiles beneath my feet. “So it’s true. He did love her.”

“And she him, if I know anything about love. . . .”

We caught each other’s eyes and laughed at the absurdity of the idea that Aphrodite might get something like that wrong.

“She never told me so, but I could see it in her eyes,” my mother
said. “Trust me, Eros. Hephaestus has nothing but our best interests in mind.”

“If you say so.”

I got up and pushed my hair back from my face. “Will you tell me when you’re done?”

“Of course, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.” She sighed and sank down in the tub again, letting the water rise up to her chin. “I could be perfectly happy here for hours.”

I left her to her solitude and went to my room, wishing I could channel some of her confidence, but feeling more conflicted than ever. What was I to do when my mother told me one thing and my father the exact opposite? How was I to know who to trust? Meanwhile, the top of the hourglass on my desk—once full of red sand—was already about a quarter of the way empty. The pressure was compounding around me.

The sand timer, Artemis and Apollo, my father, Hephaestus, Claudia, Peter, Zeus, Orion. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know if I could succeed.

If only Harmonia were here. She always knew what to do.

I took a deep breath, squeezed my eyes closed, and imagined Harmonia beside me in a room filled with roses. The scent of flowers always calmed me down and helped me think straight. Had I been in my chambers on Mount Olympus, I could have conjured thousands of blooms at a whim. I could have rolled in them, bathed in them, buried myself in them.

But I was here, and I was powerless. Or nearly so. The only thing I could do was keep my eyes closed, breathe, and use my imagination.

Harmonia’s laugh. Her reassuring gaze. And roses. Roses
everywhere. I imagined the heady scent filling my nostrils and soothing away my fears and anxieties, helping me think. I breathed in and out, trying to see them. Roses upon roses all over my room.

Something pricked my palm.

“Ow!” My eyes fluttered open, my soothing vision obliterated. I looked down at my hand, and my heart stopped beating.

Clutched inside my fist was the stem of a gorgeous, plump, red rose.

“Sixteen schools? You really think I need to apply to that many?”

This was narrowing it down?

I stared at the stack of brochures. The one on the top had a picture of four smiling kids of different skin colors, laughing on a blanket as orange leaves fell. They were surrounded by books and a bike, a skateboard and backpacks. They all looked smarter than me. They looked like people Claudia would love to hang out with.