Jake, Son Of Zeus 19 Chapter Eighteen

Jake was still waiting for word from the Fates that night. No day had ever been longer in the history of any universe. He finally decided to get some sleep, kicking off his shoes on the way to his bedroom, but he walked through the doorway to find that his room was no longer there, just a blank white wall. He turned around, and there, of course, were the Fates in their daylit living room.

Atta waved h.e.l.lo.

He took a few steps toward them in his socked feet. Thinking he should say something, if for no other reason than to be sure he wasn't dreaming, he said, "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly."

The silent one only watched him, but Atta and Chloe smiled. Politeness seemed to be effective. He wondered whether Emily Post had connections in the immortal world.

"We have a plan," Atta announced with a pleased smile.

"That's…" An image of Frodo carrying the Ring to Mordor flashed in Jake's mind, and Jake felt himself saying, "You do know that I have no kind of powers or anything, right? No superhuman strength, no incredible powers of intellect, no luck when gambling."

The one who hadn't spoke yet laughed a surprisingly youthful laugh. "You have a power no other son of Zeus possesses, in equal measure to Zeus's own power."

Another Fate whispered, "Has she ever spoken before?"

The other replied, "I heard her whispering the answers to Jeopardy one day, but it's been a few hundred years."

"Wait, what does that mean?" Jake asked, a little desperate. The idea that there could be something, anything that could help was like a fire inside. He took a step toward the Fates before he realized it probably wasn't a good idea. "What power? What—"

"Don't get excited, boy," Chloe said. "She got all the questions in that category wrong. I think she only watches because Alex Trebek's a fox."

"So you think she's wrong?"

Chloe glanced at Atta, who examined him like an abstract painting and said with a grandmother's gentleness, "I know she is, dear. I can see through you clear as good vodka, and the only thing un-mortal about you is your half-immortality. No power or ability beyond mortal skill."

Jake watched the quiet one, feeling the loss of a thing he hadn't known he was still hoping for. Sure, he'd known he wanted it, some recompense for meeting sirens in libraries, but he'd wanted it the way you want to win the lottery, a vague desire, an ever-growing list of vacations you'd take, cars you'd buy, people you'd bribe if you won, but never forgetting that it won't happen. Someone will win, but never you.

The crazy Fate said he had it, but the kind, sane ones said he didn't, and he felt the same shocked disappointment that he'd felt when he failed a final exam he was sure he'd pa.s.sed—a no-that-can't-be-right followed by a what-the-h.e.l.l-do-I-do-now? He had an absurd desire to lie down in the sunny yellow carpet and grieve for a few hours.

Atta and Chloe waited without speaking, and Jake looked at them, understanding that they understood how much he wanted to be away from them right now, understanding that they were waiting with immortal patience for him to tell them that he was ready to move on, ready to hear their plan.

And because he did want to hear their plan, and because years of living with Rachel had made him an expert at repression, Jake nodded slowly and said, "Okay."

Chloe smiled and said, "We've found a way for you to become mortal, if you still want to."

Jake couldn't find a place to focus his eyes. He didn't want to see their faces or their fake house. He wanted to close his eyes and remind himself why he was doing this, why he was here.

"Okay," he said, but only because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"It's difficult and very dangerous," Atta added.

"Of course it is," Jake said.

"You must commit a sin."

"Like murder?" Jake asked. "Or like looking l.u.s.tfully at another man's wife?"

"Somewhere in between. You want something bad enough to get you kicked out of the immortal world, but not so bad that you end up chained to a cliff with eagles eating your liver for eternity."

"Okay. How is this going to make me mortal?"

"The Council of Olympus will sentence you based on your crime."

"The Council?" Jake asked. He'd heard of it, but he couldn't remember when or where.

"Think of an immortal Supreme Court. Except these guys give much longer sentences."

"Can't you just do it? Snap your fingers or boil something's eyes?"

"We could," Atta said. "But it would really hurt."

"The Council, then. How can I be sure that I won't spend eternity shoveling coal?"

"You probably ought to have a good defense lawyer on hand, just in case."

"Hold on. Can't I just ask the Council to sentence me or curse me or whatever?"

Chloe said, "Would one of your sheriffs or mounties put you in prison if you asked? There's a system, a protocol, which must be followed."

"So what do I have to do?"

"The sin you must commit must be bad enough to separate you from the immortal world, but not so bad that you're chained to a rock and you're liver is eaten by eagles forever. So you must go to Hephaestus's fiery forge—"

"Release form!" Atta said, placing a thick stack of papers and a Bic on the table nearest Jake. "It's the standard jargon. You are acting on your own accord based on recommendations, not commands, from the Fates. You take full responsibility for any damage to yourself or to anyone or anything else. The Fates are not held liable in the case of your dismemberment or death, etc."

Jake tried not to think about what he was signing as he leaned over and scratched his name onto the form.

"'Kay. Go to Hephaestus's forge. He's at a dinner party, which will make this quite a bit easier. You'll need to find his hammer…." She detailed the rest of the plan to Jake, who tried to keep everything straight.

"Ready?" she said.

"Now?" he said, panicked.

"Yep." Atta licked her palm and slapped him in the face, and his eyes turned to the quiet one, taking in her dull eyes and twitching mouth, and then, Jake couldn't see anything. He felt things happening around his skin—wind, first, as though he was flying (or falling) hundreds of miles. Then wetness and cold that grew colder, as though he was sinking into the depths of the ocean. He hadn't realized that there had been light before, like knowing the sun is up without opening your eyes because you can see the brightness through your eyelids, but when he fell into darkness, he realized that there must have been light earlier. But it was cold and dark now, except, slowly, it was no longer cold. There was warmth like turning on a hot faucet to warm up tepid bathwater. And then it was like being in a hot tub, and the darkness was visible by a dull red light. Smith light. And then it was like being boiled alive.

Jake's knees smacked the stone floor, and he took in great lungfuls of sulfurous air. If he hadn't been drenched, he thought he might be sweating, though in no danger of pa.s.sing out from the heat. This wasn't a comfortable room, but it was fit for human habitation. All the walls were stone, and dripping lichen grew on the ceiling in most places. The lichen grew sooty and black towards the opposite end of the room, and at the very end, it stopped altogether. The ceiling was charred black there because beneath it lay the forge and the metalworking tools of the blacksmith of the G.o.ds.