Rise of the Blood

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to.”

He had on khaki shorts and a deep blue V-neck tee that picked up the midnight blue of his eyes. Next to him, I was a rumpled mess. “Five minutes,” I promised him, looking at the room clock and knowing I’d never hear the end of it if Jesus made it to the lobby before I did.

“But while I change—” paranoia or precognition…I had to know, “—would you look out the window and tell me if you see…anything at all?”

Nick glanced from me to the window. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything,” I said, slipping away before he could ask any more questions. I didn’t want to lie and pretend I’d seen something I hadn’t, adding hallucinations on top of paranoia.

“Nothing,” Nick called to me as I hit the bathroom and squeezed toothpaste onto my brush. It was completely tasteless, by which I knew. Ambrosia withdrawal.

First taste, then color would leach out of the world. All of my senses, so sharp on the food of the gods, would deaden and dull. My mind would lose focus, my muscles their competency. Things were about to get ugly.

I was going to have to pin down an ambrosia supply. Just until we put this wedding behind us, saved Apollo, recaptured Zeus and Poseidon… Would it never end? I’d never know. As long as I continued on the ambrosia, I’d never be able to trust myself. Were the shakes hyper-caffeination or withdrawal? Was my concern paranoia or prudence? It was no way to live. I knew this. Knew it. I knew too that prolonged withdrawal could mean my death. But, if I was being perfectly honest, I didn’t believe in my own mortality. It was just an excuse.

I was an addict.

I pushed the thought forcibly aside and got ready as quickly as I could, given that I’d lost all enthusiasm for the outing. I owed it to Nick not to keep him cooped up in a hotel for his first visit to Greece, to show him something even I hadn’t seen of my native country. I owed it to Apollo to investigate. My own issues were going to have to take a number. Probably that of the beast.

We hit the lobby one minute behind schedule and still had to wait five more for Jesus.

The single road into town wound down the mountain without side streets so much as alleys here and there crowded with yet more houses. Shops took up the first floor of almost all, selling jewelry, souvenirs, local arts and everything else from postcards to purses.

“Oh my!” Jesus said, stopping short before one of the shops, awe in his voice. We halted to keep from crashing into him and followed his gaze up and up to a shelf above our heads in the doorway of the souvenir stand where a bottle of ouzo stood in a satyr-shaped bottle. The reaction was brought on by the fact that the satyr was, in typical satyr fashion…all revved up and ready to go. More than just erect, his equipment curled upward almost to his chin. The bottles were mainstays of every tourist trap in about every shop in Greece, but whenever I saw the proportions, all I could think of was, “ouch!”

“I’ve got to get one of these to take back with me,” Jesus announced, disappearing into the interior of the shop.

“What about you?” Nick asked, eyes crinkled in deep amusement.

“Who needs the bottle when you’ve got the real thing?”

He snorted, though the smile on his face said I’d scored points. But it vanished almost instantly, as something in the shop window caught his attention.

“Did you notice anyone following us?” he asked quietly.

I forced myself not to look around. “Where?” I asked.

“Two storefronts back on the other side of the street.”

I pulled a hair band out of my pocket and whipped my head to the side, the better to gather my hair into a ponytail, and spotted a man in a black robe, hair crazier than mine, unkempt, facial hair spread over his chest like a bib. He was pretending to study a display of jewelry with the kind of attention Spiro might give a pretty girl…or boy.

“I see him,” I said, finishing up with the hairband, lashing my unruly hair into place in case a chase was in the offing.

“You note the way he’s staring at the jewelry?” Nick asked.

“Ye-ah.”

“He was staring at us like that a second ago. Well, you specifically.”

You’re next. I felt oddly relieved rather than alarmed at the thought. That meant that I wasn’t crazy or paranoid. I’d felt someone watching back at the hotel. The man in black had to be the culprit, maybe even the one who’d left the note back in Athens. There couldn’t be two people stalking me. I wasn’t that popular.

So, he wasn’t a hallucination, but a real threat…potentially. Only one way to find out.

“You’re looking a little maniacal,” Nick said. “I’m almost afraid to ask what kind of plan is running through your head.”

“How about whammying him with the gorgon glare and dragging him off somewhere for questioning?”

Nick looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Okay, so maybe crazy wasn’t completely out of the question. “You want to kidnap a man off the street for looking at you funny?”

“Well, when you put it that way… What do you suggest?”

“We keep an eye on him and stop him if he makes a move.”

Oh sure, without a badge to flash or any kind of official standing, it was the most sensible course of action. I was just so much better at the direct approach.

“I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

Jesus came out then, looking ridiculously pleased with his purchase.

Nick glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time left. Should we grab lunch, like we talked about?”

There was a lovely taverna on the other side of the road, but it was cantilevered out over the edge of the mountain, and there was no way that was happening. I said so.

“Gah, I’ll get us lunch to go,” Jesus said. He handed his precious bottle to Nick. “Here, hold this.”

The shape was apparent right through the clear plastic bag. Nick didn’t look like he was secure enough in his masculinity to be left holding it. I took pity on the poor man and relieved him of the package.

Jesus came back shortly juggling three Mythos beers and three gyros. We looked around for a place to eat them. The streets were narrow, with no margin at all between the cars cruising by and the walkway, so that we couldn’t sit on a curb without risking our feet, and with sidewalk and storefront space at such a premium, there were no benches.

“Chica, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you are a pain in the ass,” Jesus said helpfully.

I looked at Nick. “A good boyfriend would disagree,” I told him.

“I’d have aimed higher,” he said to Jesus. “Pain in the neck, maybe.”

I stuck my tongue out in their general direction.

In the end, we risked our toes and ate on the curb, pulling our feet in whenever a vehicle came by. It wasn’t dignified, and I expected trouble at any moment over our location with the open containers and all, but as the taste of slow-cooked lamb, onions, tomatoes and tzatziki sauce burst over my taste buds, I forgot to care. In America, every Greek restaurant served gyros. In Greece, Jesus had been lucky to find them. They weren’t restaurant, but street food here, like hot dogs and soft pretzels in New York City. But here or there, they were just about perfection. Unfortunately, that first burst of flavor quickly faded away, leaving me unsatisfied. Bereft, even. And no matter how many bites I took, I still felt empty. Hunger gnawed at me like a junkyard dog at a bone.

I glanced up and down the street, looking for our tail, and found him across the way, staring into yet another storefront, not so subtly watching us via the reflection in the window. In that same window I caught sight of a second black-robed figure. I pretended to stretch so that I could casually look around. Behind us, half in and half out of a shop, pretending interest in a rack of postcards, was another man in black, more priestly than secret-agently. When he felt me looking, he grabbed up a few of the postcards and disappeared into the shop. I hoped the proprietor got at least a little business out of our creepy surveillance.

“Yeah, I see them,” Nick said without me asking.

“The one who just went into the shop…I think I’d like to talk with him if you’ll keep an eye on his