Murder on Olympus (23 page)

64

I scanned the crowd for Prometheus. Given that he was fifteen feet tall, spotting him should have been easy. But the big guy was MIA.

Instead of blindly searching the mansion for him, I decided to ask around. I looked for the most normal-looking person in the room, which—with all the freaks and sadists running around—was easier said than done. The closest thing I found was a pale-skinned woman near the buffet area.

The tight blue dress she wore emphasized some fairly impressive curves. Honey-colored hair cascaded to the middle of her back, and her large eyes shone a bright shade of green. She held a Styrofoam cup in her hand.

I approached her. “Excuse me.”

When our eyes met, she gasped and dropped her drink. Dark-red liquid splashed onto my shoes. I told myself it was punch.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The woman didn’t respond. She just stared at me. Her eyes were larger up close, and there was something extremely creepy about them. They reminded me of the eyes on a porcelain doll. Glassy and lifeless.

“Have you seen Prometheus?” I asked.

The woman slowly backed away from me. She turned and ran, disappearing into the crowd.

Okay,
that was weird
.

I grabbed a napkin off the buffet table and wiped the red stuff off my shoes. Then I searched the crowd for the second-most normal-looking person at the party. A satyr with long white hair and a beard leaned against the staircase railing. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned all the way, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A black necktie was wrapped around his head like a bandanna.

“Excuse me,” I said.

The satyr glowered at me. His pupils were dilated, and his hands trembled. I glanced at his arms. I could have played connect the dots with all the track marks.

“Wh-what? What? What do ya want?” the satyr stammered, scratching the side of his neck.

“Have you seen Prometheus?”

“Who?”

“Prometheus,” I said. “You know. Big guy, covered in tats, guts hanging out. The one who owns this house.”

“Oh!
That
Prometheus. Yeah, I’ve seen him.”

“Where is he?”

“On the third floor. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

The satyr grinned, revealing a set of crooked and yellow teeth. “No problem.”

I stepped past him and went upstairs, to the third floor. A dark corridor stretched before me. A crimson runner covered the hardwood floor, thick and plush. Generic paintings of mountains and seascapes hung on the walls, illuminated by bronze sconces. I stopped at the second door on the right and knocked. The noise resounded throughout the hallway. No one answered. I knocked again.

“Prometheus?”

Still nothing.

I tried the knob, and it turned easily in my hand. Unlocked. I eased the door open. It clicked shut behind me.

Inside were a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand—all super-size like their owner. A leather sex swing hung over the bed. Prometheus wasn’t here, which meant one of two things: either the satyr had made a mistake, or he was a lying sack of crap. I suspected option number two.

I was about to leave when I heard a rustling sound. I froze, my hand poised near the doorknob. I turned around, slowly. A low hiss filled the room as a gorgon with green and silver scales emerged from the other side of the bed.

I shut my eyes before she could fix her gaze on me. I wasn’t sure if the Aegis would protect me from getting stoned, and didn’t intend to find out. I turned the doorknob and yanked. It wouldn’t budge. Someone had locked me in.

The gorgon shrieked. The noise rang in my ears, masking the sound of her approach. Clawed hands caught my arm and waist in a crushing grip. I shouted for help as she lifted me into the air and tossed me across the room. I crashed on the bed and rolled over the edge onto the floor.

Heart thumping, I scrambled to my feet and drew my gun. I could hear the gorgon slithering around. But she moved so fast, I couldn’t pinpoint her location in the room with my eyes still squeezed shut. I fired three blind shots. I must have missed because she didn’t grunt or cry out in pain.

There was another shriek. Something, probably the gorgon’s tail, wrapped around my ankles and swept me off my feet. When I tried to rise, the creature scrambled on top of me. She pinned my wrists to the floor with clawed hands. I struggled but couldn’t break her hold.

The gorgon hissed. Her breath stank like rotten meat, scalding against my face.

“Get off me!” I yelled.

I heard the door boom open, and the gorgon abruptly released me. Next came the sounds of a struggle, followed by a loud crash. Then everything went silent.

“You okay, man?” a voice asked.

I dared to open my eyes, and sat upright.

Prometheus stood near the dresser. The gorgon was on the opposite side of the room. She had been knocked halfway through the wall. Her now-still tail drooped, while the other half of her body hung through the wall into the hallway.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I got up and put my gun away.

“Plato, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing up here? The party’s downstairs.”

“I was looking for you, actually. We need to talk.”

65

Prometheus led me to a smoking lounge farther down the hall. The room was dim and circular. Thick red curtains covered the walls, and a giant hookah sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by pillows as wide as car hoods. Tobacco smoke scented the air. The wacky variety.

“Thanks again for helping me out,” I said, climbing onto one of the pillows.

“No problem.” Prometheus gathered his intestines, stuffed them into the gash in his stomach, and dropped down across from me. The floor shuddered beneath him.

“I’m lucky you came along when you did.”

“Luck had nothing to with it, my friend.” Prometheus pointed at the ceiling. “It was the stars.”

“Excuse me?”

“The stars. They’re the architects of fate. They dictate our every action. It is because of their power that we even exist.”

“So the stars led you to that room?”

“Of course.”

I nodded slowly.
Okay. Moving on
 . . .

“I’m a private investigator.” I showed him my ID. “Zeus hired me to look into a series of crimes that recently occurred in New Olympia. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you acquainted with the Goddess Enyo?”

“I am.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Very well.” Prometheus had one of those if-you-know-what-I-mean grins on his face.

“You were romantically involved?”

“Yes.”

“Exclusive?” I asked.

“No, but she wanted to be.”

“Did you feel the same way?”

“In a way,” Prometheus began, “but we’re too different to ever work. It’d be like two galaxies trying to occupy the same space. The universe would never allow such a union.”

“You told her no, then?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t imagine Enyo took the rejection very well,” I said.

“She threw me out a window.”

“Harsh. And then?”

“She went home.”

“Did you hear from her again?”

Prometheus nodded. “She called a few days later, begging me to be with her. She’d even gone so far as to break up with her other lovers.”

So that’s why she broke up with Collin. “What did you tell her?”

“To forget about me. To move on.”

“Did she take your advice?”

“I don’t know. She hung up on me. That was the last time she and I spoke.” Prometheus paused and squinted at me. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“You could say that,” was all I was willing to tell him for now. I’d never been a fan of putting all my cards on the table at once. To me, conducting an interrogation was a lot like painting. It required patience and finesse. One brushstroke at a time, until the picture began to take form.

Prometheus gave a half-smile. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

My eyebrows shot upward.
So much for strategy! But does this mean he’s the killer?
“Yes, she is.”

Prometheus nodded, his expression calm.

“You don’t seem very upset,” I said.

“I’m not.”

“That’s a little insensitive, don’t you think?”

“To the unenlightened mind, perhaps.” Prometheus rested his hands behind his head. “I believe everything happens for a reason.”

“Let me guess. Her death was written in the stars.”

He pointed at me. “Exactly!”

“Did the stars also tell you to kill her?”

“Oh no.”

“If they had, would you have done it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How?”

Prometheus shrugged. “I guess I’d used the Claw of Erebus. That is, if I could get my hands on it.”

Hearing the name Erebus took me back to freshman history in high school. Supposedly, Erebus was an ancient deity, the primordial darkness from which all life was created. For as long as anyone could remember, scholars and scientists had been debating its existence. The Gods were squarely on the “no comment” side of the argument. I was on the fence about the issue.

“What’s the Claw of Erebus?” I asked.

“A weapon fashioned from the darkness of creation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s not surprising. The Olympians keep its existence a secret. But don’t worry, I’ll set you straight.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So here’s the deal,” Prometheus said. “Think of Erebus as a big hunk of modeling clay. This clay was used to shape the world and everything in it: oceans, mountains, birds, mortals, Titans, everything. But as with most modeling projects, there were a few bits of clay left over. Little pieces of unfathomable power.”

“And someone thought it’d be a good idea to collect those pieces and forge them into a weapon,” I said.

“Able to destroy anything,” Prometheus said. “Even a God.”

“What happened to the claw?”

“Last I heard, the Olympians had it. I imagine they still do.”

I rubbed my chin and considered this. If everything Prometheus said was true, I now had a potential murder weapon. How did the killer manage to get his or her hands on it? And why didn’t the Olympians tell me about it from the beginning? Someone had some explaining to do.

I stood up. “Thanks for your time, Prometheus.”

“No problem.”

“Do me a favor and keep this whole murder thing between me and you, okay?”

Prometheus gave me a thumbs-up. “Sure thing.”

As I started to leave, I remembered Nicolas’s description of the missing gorgon.

“One more thing,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“What was up with the gorgon in the bedroom?”

“Oh, that?” Prometheus laughed. “A friend of mine brought it over. She’s a gorgon charmer.”

“Gorgon charmer?”

Prometheus nodded. “Like a snake charmer, only with gorgons.”

“How does she charm them without getting turned to stone?”

“She’s half-gorgon, so she’s immune to their stares. And she can charm them into doing what she wants.”

“What?” I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true,” Prometheus assured me. “Her mom is Medusa.”

I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was telling the truth. I wished he’d been lying. Half-gorgon. I had no idea gorgons could mate with other species, and frankly, I would’ve been happier having never known. The thought of lying down with one of those ugly, smelly things was the stuff of nightmares. And Medusa had been the ugliest and smelliest of all.

Who in his right mind would have sex with something like that? You couldn’t even look at her without turning to stone. And not in a good way.

“Why did she bring the gorgon over?” I asked.

“Some of the guests thought it’d be fun to get turned to stone.”

“Who’s this friend of yours?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because that gorgon is stolen property.”

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“As a heart attack.”

Prometheus frowned.

“What’s your friend’s name?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry man, but I’m no snitch.”

“Gorgon theft is a federal offense, you know. If someone was to, I don’t know, tip off the OBI, you could get into serious trouble . . . with Zeus.”

Prometheus’s attitude instantly shifted gears. He raised his hands, grinning nervously. “Whoa, no need for that, friend. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Smart move.”

“She goes by Mia. But her real name is Lamia.”

“Lamia?” I stared at Prometheus in confusion. “I thought she was dead.”

Prometheus smirked, his lip ring flashing in the dim light. “That’s what the
official
records say.”

“I don’t get it.”

Prometheus gestured for me to sit back down. “I assume you already know about Lamia’s affair with Zeus.”

I nodded. “Hera punished her by killing her children.”

“Yeah, but that’s not all she did. Hera painted Lamia as a psychopathic child-killer, made it impossible for her to lead a normal life.”

“Wait, so the whole story about Lamia killing children is a lie?”

Prometheus nodded. “Lamia, poor thing, tried to clear her name. But no one would believe her. Who’s going to take the word of a cold-blooded child-killer over the Queen of the Gods?”

“You believed her,” I said.

Prometheus chuckled, without humor. “I know how Hera can be sometimes.”

“You and me both.”

“Anyway, she faked her death to get Hera off her back.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“She was here earlier, but I think she bailed.”

“What does she look like?” I asked.

Prometheus shrugged. “Depends on how she’s feeling.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lamia’s a shape-shifter. She inherited that power from her father.”

I assumed he was talking about Poseidon, the God of the Sea. As far I knew, he was Lamia’s biological father. Her mother—I’d thought—was Lybie, an ancient queen of Libya. But according to Prometheus, Medusa was the real mother, which meant that she and Poseidon . . . Yuck.

“A shape-shifter who can hypnotize gorgons and is immune to their stares,” I said. “Your friend’s pretty well-rounded.”

“No doubt.”

“What did she look like tonight?”

“Like a human female. Pale skin. Light-brown hair. Nice ass. That’s the form I’m most familiar with. I think it’s her real one.”

“Does she have any distinguishing features?”

“Yeah. She’s got these freaky eyes. I mean real freaky. Like space age, flying saucer shit.”

I leaned forward. “Her eyes, are they green?”

“Yeah.”

The woman near the buffet. The one who ran away from me. Could that have been Lamia?

“And you say she left?” I asked urgently.

Prometheus nodded.

“Is there a way I can get in contact with her?” I asked.

“Not that I know of. She kinda comes and goes, you know.”

I got up. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

I went back downstairs and started asking random people if they knew where Lamia—a.k.a. Mia—had gone. No one knew. Or if they did, they weren’t telling. After an hour of searching, I gave up. As I walked toward the door on my way out, a voice called out to me.

“Did you have fun?”

It was the satyr with the necktie around his head.

“Did you know there was a gorgon upstairs?” I asked.

He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “Uh-huh.”

“And you sent me up there?”

“Yeah, pretty funny joke, huh?”

I punched him in the jaw. He fell unconscious onto the floor.

“Hilarious.” I turned and left the mansion.