“James?” Eliza said, doing her best to break into his reverie. Not on purpose had he blanked out, but he had just found him-self thinking on the fact that for almost a month straight, this goddess of Death had killed consistently. And now, all of sudden a week had gone by without any mention in the media of any murders which fit the bill. Had she stopped, being that she—whoever the elusive she happened to be—had now been exposed to them? Was it all just a message to be delivered which said that Clurife and his tools could get to any of them at any time? No. That James knew for sure. Besides, he found himself aching for the opportunity to face this supposed goddess of Death and show her a real fight. Killing unarmed, untrained innocents was easy, but throw someone like himself into the mix and then you had a real test on your hands. He hadn’t had the chance though, because it seemed that finding the last few descendants of Poseidon which contained the god
The group dashed out of the motel room and into the dark, unforgiving night. The moon was at full height, bathing the ground in a silvery light; the stars were out in force, though with the nearby freeway and it’s artificial lighting, the brilliant beauty of the celestial bodies was greatly diminished. James turned to face Eliza and Oliver and told them, “Position here and watch our backs.” At the onset of additional spine-tingling howls, Oliver clenched his jaw and a hint of anger flashed in his cool gray eyes. The Brit nodded once. James moved his eyes away from the pair lest his emotions for Eliza overwhelm him. He needed to remain clearheaded in order to protect them all. Swiftly, he searched the area and decided on the best possibility for a battle ground. In between where they currently stood and the interstate in the distance, there was a large open field with low level grasses. The earth seemed to be sandy and it was even somewhat lit from the lights on the freeway. Jame
James sat wearily to the bed that would be his in the room. He was trying his best not to relive the past 12 hours, because they weren’t exactly the best of his life. Not but an hour after they had gotten on the road, Romero had called Blakeney and had given him the bad news: Landen Miller and his entire family had been killed sometime around midnight. A piece of his heart had felt as if it had been ripped out because not only had they failed to get there in time to prevent the deaths of innocents, but they had lost yet another prospect for the last element. The task or mission—or whatever you would call it—was starting to shape up to be impossible. It was as if no matter when they left or how hard they tried, they were always a step behind the enemy. He didn’t know what else they could do different, but he did know that if he continued to obsess over the possibilities, he would probably have a mental breakdown. He would have to be patient and when the opportunity came, they would str
For the rest of the day, James had followed Tres’s family around. Not always necessarily because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to go sit in his room by himself. They had eaten dinner together—Adonis joining them father-free—and now he and Tres were just getting things ready for tomorrow. Well, he was anyway. Tres had brought an updated, upgraded version of his computer system, Alexandra, and was rewiring the room in order to do a new integration. Spare wires were hanging from the ceiling and a huge hole had been cut into the wall behind Tres’s desk. His friend was hard at work when a knock came from their door. Tres immediately froze in midtinker and the two of them listened hard. A soft click sounded and Blakeney stuck his head in. “May I come in?” Tres’s face showed shock and panic. His eyes flitted around the room but seeing as there was no way to hide the mess, he dropped his head. James pinched off a laugh. “Sure, Mr. Blakeney.” “James, I wanted to speak with
“Good morning, class,” intoned Blakeney as he strode regally through the door. “Morning, Mr. Blakeney,” the class replied in almost perfect uni-son. The older man deposited an expensive-looking briefcase on a large, glistening wooden desk and turned his full attention on them. “You have all chosen to take International Political Studies this year and as it is a career specific course, it’s important that you always do your very best. Throughout this year we will be looking at the various political decisions of the past 250 years which have helped shape our world into the model we see today. Though there will be tests and several written assignments,” he said before pressing on reassuringly, seeing the panicked faces, “the bulk of your grade will come from the discussions we will often partake in. Do not fret because it is not the shape of your opinion that matters, but your involvement. As is always the case with the nature of our topics, the arguments will sometimes be hea
The rest of the week passed with little to no fanfare. If James was honest with himself, he’d admit how easy it would be to get wrapped up in the repetition and comfort of simplicity of all of this and forget—or at least displace to the back-burner—the looming darkness hanging over everyone. Though not everyone knew about the storm that was brewing, coming it was, nonetheless. In between school, Eliza, and friends, James had had little time for thought of any missions or training or whatever. He found himself getting distracted more and more often as the week had progressed. Case-in-point: Ricky Collins had been hounding him incessantly about going out for the wrestling team. Apparently, his new body structure was easily noticeable even though he had always had a bit of an athletic build. Regardless, the attention drawn from his new look was a little embarrassing and he wouldn’t be caught dead in any kind of spandex. No, thank you. The week had turned out pretty good and with the w
Before she could formulate a response, Blakeney took hold of a pair of scissors from the nearby shelving and cut the wrapping free. The depth and seriousness of the injuries caused everyone in the room to gasp with fright. The intake of breath ascended into a palpable silence which seemed to invade every molecule of the atmosphere in the room. “My . . . god,” muttered Blakeney like he was afraid to break the stillness. The stitched gashes were the exact opposite of healing: the jag-ged openings were purple, red, and yellow—completely inflamed; the stitch-work looked to be tearing at the seams; the veins in the immediate vicinity were the color of the inkiest black. Eliza’s sobs shattered the silence into a thousand shards of bro-ken glass. “But . . . b-but . . . how?” She barely managed to get the words out through her rasping, labored breaths. “Robert, this is far worse than any blood poisoning I have ever seen?” Dr. Gomez commented softly. He swallowed n
She made her way purposefully toward the inner sanctum of the temple. Passing nooks, carvings, and paintings pasted onto the walls, she stepped between two fat pillars. The massive statue of Zeus loomed before her. Eliza had only ever been here with James and not the cold, emptiness made her feel lonelier than ever. She shivered at the thought and crossed her arms as if she were hugging herself. Almost hesitantly she moved her hazel-green eyes up the statue until they rested on the marble orbs in likeness of the king of the gods. Eliza swallowed back both pride and nerves. “I’ve never . . . done this before,” she admitted softly. Her voice echoed like a tinkling bell off the hard surfaces of the sanctuary. She chuckled nervously and pressed on. “I don’t even really know what to do.” In spite of everything, she gave a half smile. “I guess James being your son makes it a little easier for him to talk to you. Or . . . pray to you.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I know you’re