“You brought him too? Your generous nature surprises me,” Robin drawled; his end of the couch was the higher one. He looked comfortable. Good for him. He used to puke when I had to gate us away. Eventually he’d gotten used to it, as had Niko. Kalakos was all but doubled over, doing all he could to keep from vomiting. Humans didn’t like gates and gates didn’t like humans. “And you will pay for my sofa, I promise you.”
“I had to,” I snapped, wiping the slow ooze of blood from my nostrils. I was healed, but normally even in the best of conditions, the nosebleed would gush like a river. The headache would be the same as being hit in the head with a baseball bat, but now it was only a lower-level migraine. Not that I’d ever had a migraine, but I thought it was a good guess. “I didn’t have a choice. Any hands, legs, any piece of any one of us at all that was outside the gate would’ve been left behind in our apartment. Fingers on the floor draw rats. And I like our couch. My ass imprint is the perfect depth. I wasn’t leaving it behind.”
“Yet my furniture means nothing to you.” Goodfellow stayed in place, hands behind his head, as the rest of us slid off and onto the floor. “The two of you are quite the experts with swords.” He addressed Niko and Kalakos, who was recovering. He was less green. He’d head back into the nausea range, because Goodfellow was talking and didn’t appear to be stopping anytime soon.
Janus—no big deal. A sweaty version of American Gladiators right in front of him, that was worth discussing. “It is almost as if Niko inherited some talent from you, although he is superior. He fights with his skill and his heart. You fight with your skill alone. Too bad. A strong heart usually wins. We pucks hate that, as it makes trickery more difficult. Unfortunately it is true.”
Kalakos still held the xiphos in his hand, the one that had actually seemed to make a mild impression on Janus. “Niko is impressive. I will not deny. All the male line of my family is the same and has been since…I cannot remember. Blond hair, fighters. There is a story that a man impregnated a girl from our clan back in Greece hundreds of years ago. Northern Greek and blond, he was supposedly descended from the Trojan war hero Achilles.” He shifted his shoulders. “Foolishness. Mythology, the historical rumors that never die.”
Robin crossed his ankles and raised his eyebrows. “Mythology. When will you humans ever learn what is true and what is not? Achilles existed. There is no myth there. He was human, however. No goddess dipping him in a river by his heel. He was a human soldier and a superb warrior.” He moved a hand to pat his stomach. Salome appeared, jumped, and curled up, dead and purring. Her feline grin was the same as always—the Cheshire cat crossed with Hannibal Lecter. “It does explain a good deal. The inherent genetic talent of hundreds of years of warriors since Achilles, hundreds of more warrior ancestors before him. The general appearance: the blond hair and epic nose. You could be his brothers, both of you.”
Niko, ever prepared, had held on to his towel and finished cleaning up. “Or his cousin, Patroclus?”
“No, contrary to useless historical myth, they didn’t look much alike. Patroclus had dark hair. He also had a tendency toward a foul mouth and insubordination. When they were younger, years before Troy, he was whipped on one occasion, his back turned to rags of flesh…or at least he was until Achilles returned to camp and broke the neck of the antisyntag…the lieutenant colonel who was doing the ‘punishing.’ The man wasn’t fond of mercenaries to begin with. We had a time covering that one up. But as all the men hated him anyway, a few barrels of wine and it was forgive and forget.”
“They existed? You knew them?” Kalakos asked with a healthy dose of disbelief. “Achilles and Patroclus?”
Robin looked down his nose. “Were they worth knowing? Yes. Ergo, did I know them? Yes.” He stroked Salome’s wrinkly bare skin. “When Patroclus died, Achilles cut off his own hair to mourn him.” He stared into the light of Salome’s eyes as he said that, as if he could see it all over again in the dusty glow. “I handed him the dagger.”
“That tradition extended that far back?” The Rom had picked that up when passing through Greece. “To cut your hair?” Niko wondered, a shadowed memory passing over his face. Why wouldn’t he be curious? He’d once done it himself.
Robin didn’t answer the question, instead saying, “Niko, you can borrow the shower and some of my clothes if you wish. There is also soy milk in the refrigerator. Wine for Promise. Nothing for Cal, as he keeps destroying my condo. And when we are settled, I’d like to hear about the xiphos Kalakos has that didn’t kill Janus, but made the automaton at least hesitate for a second or two. Who knows how long we have? This is perfect weather for a war machine like Janus to move about unseen among the local populace.”
“We could’ve been hearing about the swords sooner if you weren’t telling us goddamn bedtime stories,” I growled. “And it’s a war machine? We have an actual war machine on our asses?”
The puck gently rang the gold loop in the tip of Salome’s ear. “I like stories. And obviously it’s a war machine. Do you think it was built to pick olives?”
What the hell did you say to that?
Niko showered, as did Kalakos, although he hadn’t been offered an invitation. The condo had three bathrooms. He took advantage. He wasn’t lacking in intelligence enough to take any of Robin’s or Ish’s clothes without the offer. He did ask politely for shoes, which Robin grumbled about before giving in. “But no shirt. If I have to give you shoes, I get a nice view in return. And if you could throw in a boom-chika-bow-wow once in a while, I might even give you shoes that fit.”
Kalakos slapped the xiphos lightly against his leg. “I’ve not killed a puck before.”
“And you never will. Achilles-lite. Vaguely similar taste with half the lethality. Now go take your shower or your generous host, me, will let you walk around New York shoeless, shirtless, and perhaps without your balls.”
Salome knew that word. Her hairless muzzle turned toward Kalakos and she showed him her bored let’s-play smile. I couldn’t figure out how she fit the dentures of a T. Rex in her cat-size mouth, and Kalakos didn’t waste time pondering the issue either. He was already moving for the hall and the bathrooms. When he returned he was re-dressed in his black pants and put on his long coat I hadn’t noticed him seizing before I’d gated. It must have been where the xiphos had been concealed. He also had the shoes Robin had promised him. He didn’t mention anything about the very visible fang marks in them.
When all was done but not said, fifteen minutes later we gathered around the dining room table and I said, “Spit it out, Kalakos.” He was at the opposite end of the table from me, not that that would do him any good. I had kept my Desert Eagle with me when I’d gated and it shone bright and deadly on the table in front of me.
“Niko will cut you some slack for your Suyolak-jacked-up Neosporin, but he’s my brother. He cares if I live or die. I have different priorities. ‘No life for a child.’” I was no Salome but I stretched my mouth into a grin that outdid your average crocodile. “I lived that life with him. And if it comes to me living or me dying and taking you with me because you discarded him like trash to live that life, I don’t have to flip a fucking quarter to know which choice I’d prefer.” I picked up the Eagle and aimed it at where his heart would’ve been if the son of a bitch had had one. “Tell us the story. Goodfellow told us one. Now it’s your turn.
“And, Kalakos,” I added, casual on the outside, but on the inside was the blackest of rage, “you know what I am. The entire Vayash clan knew from the day I was born. They kept an eye on Sophia, making sure the wild, crazy, sociopathic bitch didn’t get them in trouble. She laughed at that. And they knew the Auphe. All the Rom know the Auphe. The clan knew from the beginning and so did you. The Auphe don’t play games like me without a reason. When they make things like me, even they don’t know for certain how I’ll turn out.” I turned the Eagle on one side. “More human?” Then to the other side. “Less human?” Then I aimed it back at him.