Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“How special.” The guy says with an obvious sneer in my direction like I’m anything but. “Anyway, I’m off to work. Thanks for another shit meal.”
“Did you at least pay?” Cyrus asks in a bored tone.
“Do you even care?” the guy fires back. “Bill the dickhead.”
“Oh, I will.”
The guy walks past us with ease. “Charge extra.”
“I always do.” Cyrus laughs. “Work hard, Kratos.”
Kratos salutes us both and walks out.
A waitress brings us two menus and two cups of coffee, as I look back down the street. The guy looks ready to yell at anyone who speaks to him; people give him a wide berth like they too know that speaking might cause him to snap.
“He’s not as bad as he looks,” Cyrus says like he’s a mind reader. “He also has an extremely keen sense of smell, he hates perfume. He smells me a mile away and always looks pissed about it. Do you know what you want?”
I glance down at the wooden menu then back up, finally getting a good view of the pub. It’s what I would expect but beautifully intricate. The walls are wooden and are littered with different stories or mythologies. “Greek mythology, the fall of Hercules, Achilles…” I point and smile. “Mesopotamia, I don’t know as much about that one. Oh, Gilgamesh! One of my favorite stories, I had to read it in college and became obsessed.” I frown. “Roman mythology.” I laugh. “Vampires? They have a mythology too?”
“Vlad the Impaler, horrible imm—person.” Cyrus nods. “Glad you finally noticed all the hard work we put into the décor.”
“This is incredible!”
“Go explore. You know you want to.” He smiles into his coffee. “I’ll order for you while you look.”
He finally glances up at me, and I do it again; I stare into his eyes.
An orange flame burns before he frowns and tilts his head like nothing happened.
I back up.
“Heed all warnings here, small one.” He winks. “Oh, but this is safe.” He shoves a glass of water toward me. “But before you hydrate, take a look around. There’s even a wall near the restrooms. You’ll find that one…highly entertaining.”
I bolt.
But it’s not because of excitement anymore.
It’s because I saw something, or I think I did.
Black spots fill my line of vision for a few minutes before I’m able to finally blink them away. It was like direct eye contact with the sun.
I should probably get my eyes checked when I get back home, dark spots can’t be a good sign, or I guess it could be my blood sugar?
I make a mental note to eat as much as possible, gather more mental strength, and attempt to listen as best I can.
Wait for my brother.
Don’t eat anything Enki bakes.
And never, never, stare too long into Cyrus’s eyes.
CHAPTER 9
CYRUS
“Better to fight and fall than to live without hope.” —Volsunga, ch. 12
Istart eating and ask the server, Mara, to bring out Cleo’s food in another few minutes.
The food tastes stale.
It always does.
You eat to survive. That’s something I’ve learned. You do not eat for pleasure; pleasure draws you astray more than anything. It’s why there are lines even I don’t cross. I never have. My self-control is one of the reasons I am who I am, without it—I shudder to even think what would happen.
I watch Cleo out of the corner of my eye while I sip my coffee. She touches the walls with care, with love, as if she’s seen them before.
Many have, they just don’t remember. That’s what Chaos does to you after all, it’s why she should not exist. She was the last brought into this world twenty-six years ago and so she will return, how tragic, if only she’d been born two minutes before her brother, then Chaos’s power would have gone into him—not her. Mere minutes and her life would have been given to her freely. Mere minutes.
It will be a kindness, like showing mercy to the tiny little ant that thinks it has purpose before squashing it beneath your shoe.
I wonder if she’ll faint like everyone else. I’m sure all the trapped immortals here in this end of the city are already taking bets. I’m completely convinced that Anubis and Cassius already have a running pot in Seattle at SYN one of Anubis’s competing bars, in the actual nice part of the city. Sometimes I hate that demon.
I get up when she makes her way around the corner, curious as to what she’s going to say about the décor.
My boots click against the hardwood floor, people look up from their tables and nod in my direction.
Lesser gods, stuck here having failed their trials, know when to honor one going through it. They touch their finger just below their right eye—the Eye of Ra and casually get back to their meals. They know I am almost finished—they know that I will ascend to my place while they will forever be stuck here.