No Enemy But Time
Author: Angel Martinez
Date: 2014-07-20 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: M M Romance; Fantasy; Paranormal; Romance; Angels; Paranormal Romance; Mythology; Gods; Short Stories; Urban Fantasy
Description: Zagreus (Zack), the son of Hades, and his former guardian angel, Michael, live a quiet life of gardening, animal rescue, and playful sexual experimentation. They have a house near the beach, family close by and each other. This should be the happily ever after of every god's dreams. But lately, strange misgivings have plagued Zack, a sense of something dark and powerful approaching. Since he can't pin down a source, he dismisses his instincts. Why borrow trouble? That is, until Michael begins to have strange mood swings and a dark stranger appears in the garden one night. Zack will need to bat
Publisher: Mischief Corner Books, LLC

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Trademarks Acknowlegement

Quote

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About Angel Martinez

Also by Angel Martinez

About Mischief Corner Books

No Enemy But Time

A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story

Angel Martinez

About the e-Book You Have Purchased:

This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Cover Artist: Freddy MacKay

First Edition

NO ENEMY BUT TIME (A BRANDYWINE INVESTIGATIONS UNIVERSE STORY) © 2014 Angel Martinez

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No Enemy But Time is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The story contains explicit sexual content and is intended for adult readers.

Any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material is a model and is being used solely for illustrative purposes.

PUBLISHER

Mischief Corner Books, LLC

Dedication

For Lila Leigh Hunter, who wrote the beautiful, haunting prompt that inspired this story, and for my Classics professors, who taught me that myth is as fluid and changeable as the human heart.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Blue Moon: Miller Coors Brewing Co.

Disney: The Walt Disney Co.

Jeep: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles

"What reinforcement we may gain from hope,

If not what resolution from despair."

― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Chapter One

If I tilt my head, I can still see the shadows of wings in this light.

An approaching late spring squall shoved the wind into gusts, causing the trees to sway and flail their branches in dismay. Shadows played across the moon, Rembrandt lighting Michael's body, making the illusory wings rustle in dark, restless twitches, so unlike Michael's own bright wings in his former life.

Zack shivered, a wave of unease rippling through him. The unsettling moments had increased since winter, fast-moving storms of dark spots across his heart that he could neither explain nor predict. At first, he had blamed them on reestablished contact with his father. An honorable god, yes, but he had lived too long in darkness and Zack still found his company disquieting. But they persisted, even when he hadn't seen Hades for weeks. His hunter's instincts screamed, though so far gave him nothing to go on besides a vague, burrowing dread.

Something's coming… something dangerous. He ran a gentle hand down Michael's back, a crooked smile curving up when the sensitive wing dimples twitched under his fingers. I'll watch. I'll keep you safe. Whatever it is.

"Hey." Zack leaned in to nuzzle into Michael's hair, blond turned to silver in the moonlight.

With a contented sigh, Michael stirred and turned his head on the pillow. "Are you going?"

"Few minutes. You want breakfast or should I let you sleep?"

Michael blinked sleep-blurred eyes and started to push himself him up. Zack kept a hand on his back to keep him on his stomach. "If I'm going with you, I need to have breakfast with you."

"You're not even awake yet. Stay. Sleep. The birds won't mind if you miss the first day."

"All right." Michael rose up far enough to plant a soft kiss on Zack's lips before he snuggled back down with a smile. "Bossy."

Zack patted his muscular ass. "Damn right. I'll be back before lunch. Don't forget to bring in your columbines if the wind picks up much more."

A twinge of anxiety nearly stopped Zack as he eased the bedroom door closed, but he didn't have anything solid on which to pin his fears. A leftover wisp of nightmare. Wind and shadows.

He guzzled down coffee, wolfed down a bagel, and slipped into his water shoes, still shaking his head at his groundless fears. Michael would be fine on his own. While he wasn't the powerful being he had once been, their lives were quiet and peaceful. He had no need for wings and miracles to putter successfully around his beloved garden. Zack rolled his bike from the shed and set out for the park. Every year since they had moved to Lewes, he had taken three days off from his animal control business—catch and release only—to assist with the migratory bird census.

The empty early-morning road stared blindly at him. The only sounds accompanying his tires on the asphalt were night insects and the capricious wind. He could almost believe it was a century ago, when the world was larger and less crowded and his Michael was the one to keep him safe.

* * * * *

Though still early for most butterflies, Michael kept the butterfly garden for the few migratory wanderers who might pass through. He knelt next to the flowerbed, carefully teasing invasive plants out of the rows and replanting them in the wild bed. The varied reds of the bleeding hearts and wild columbine, the bright pink of the early blooming fuchsia, and the proud white crowns of Queen Anne's lace all bloomed against the backdrop of yellow and white fragrant stars of his honeysuckle vines on their wooden trellis. Zack called it his happy place, and Michael couldn't argue with that. The busy hum of bees, the riot of annual creation—it settled him, warmed him. He needed those things desperately, now, where once a garden would simply have brought him joy.

He had no regrets. From the moment he had been assigned to Zack, mostly god with a human birth mother for his third life, he had felt the universe shift. An Abrahamic angel watching over an infant Greek god was unexpected, but Zack's human mother, a devout Catholic, hadn't survived long after the birth. Her prayers for an angel to guard her baby had been fervent and powerful.

Some part of him had known, from that moment to their first kiss nearly eighty years later, that he was doomed. Michael's fall, white-hot agony and despair, followed swiftly after that kiss. Without Zack, he would have descended into madness and vengeful hate as so many of the fallen did. Gently, carefully, Zack had coaxed him back from the darkness, had reversed their roles, and made himself the protector.

Zack never said it, but Michael knew he had bought this house with Michael's happiness in mind. Oh, yes, he made noises about wanting to be closer to his father and wanting to live at the beach, but the little house surrounded by trees, with a creek singing in the backyard and a sunny garden, had been what Michael needed.

He loved Zack for that, loved him more for it, if that could be possible. He squinted up at the sun trying to shove through the clouds. Rain wouldn't stop the bird count but it might make it a miserable process with wet sneakers and soaked clothes.

He should be home soon, though, and it's just started to drizzle.

The honeysuckle leaves rustled in the wake of a body moving through them. Michael leaned forward, trying for a glimpse of the creature. Bird, he thought at first, but it pushed forward in a straight line instead of flitting about. Small snake, perhaps? He parted the leaves and found himself eye to eye with a little green frog, its back peppered with black spots.

"Rah rah," said the frog.

Michael laughed, fascinated as its throat distended to the point of translucence for another rah. Slowly, he stretched out a hand, fingers extended, and held his breath as tiny feet took tentative steps onto his skin. Settled on his palm, the frog continued to sing its strange song of miniature terrier yaps.

"Hey, who's your friend?" Zack spoke softly near his ear.

His sudden appearance made Michael twitch, and the frog leaped away. "I wish you wouldn't do that. Mr. Silent Feet."

"Sorry. I forget sometimes." Zack peered into the honeysuckle vines. "Barking tree frog. We don't get many around here. Pretty rare find."

"He's so cute." Michael settled back on his haunches. "How did it go?"

"Noisy, as usual." Zack flopped down on the grass next to him and rested his head on Michael's thigh. "Good weight gain in the Red Knots overall. Sanderling count is up a little from last year."

"Every little bit, right?" Michael stroked his fingers through the windblown thatch of Zack's midnight hair. A hint of saltwater clung to it. He must have gone in after the cannon nets, but then, he always did. The birds calmed in his presence, and the bird project folks were glad to have him there.

"Every bit." Zack kissed his fingers and sat up abruptly. "You're so cold. No shoes. No jacket. It's not summer yet."

"I was only doing a little weeding. Haven't been out that long."

"You're shivering." Zack tugged on his hand. "Come on. Inside. I could use some warming up myself."

Shivering? Michael stared at the fine tremors running along his arm. "I… yes. Of course."

Before heading in, Zack stepped around the wood screen to the outside shower. Every beach house seemed to have one, and after a week, they'd both seen the sense in it. Water shoes sailed over as the shower pattered on concrete, while damp T-shirt and shorts landed on top of the shower wall. Michael retrieved everything with a little smile before heading inside, knowing Zack would follow once he'd rinsed off the sand and the worst of the salt. His Greek god had no shame and would clomp into the house in nothing but a pair of garden clogs.

Once the warmth of the house enveloped him, tremors wracked Michael's body, ripples of chill just under the skin. He leaned against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his ribs as he fought hard shivers. I must've been colder than I thought. After a few deep breaths, the tremors subsided, so he shrugged and spread Zack's damp things out on the drying rack and headed down the hall to the bedroom. If Zack was tired, he'd appreciate the chance to snuggle in and nap, and if he wasn't, Michael had a new toy he was dying to test drive.

The back door slammed. Cheerful whistling drifted down the hall. Zack turned the corner, stark naked, still toweling his hair dry, the hard muscles in his arms bunching and flexing. Not too tall, not too bulky, he would never be a stand-in for his cousin Heracles, but his proportions were perfection, his movements fluid art. Michael stared at the long line of thigh leading up to gorgeous, muscular glutes and a suffocating heat raced up from his knees. Stomach trembling, he took a step forward.

"Zagreus…"

"Hmm?" Zack raised his head, a hesitant smile tugging at his mouth. "What? What's that look for?"

"I… I don't…" Michael's body moved before he could form a complete thought. Three swift steps and he slammed Zack against the wall, seizing his wrists and pinning them over his head.

"Someone's feeling aggressive today." Zack's eyes narrowed, but his expression was otherwise unreadable.

"I want you. Now." Michael pressed hard against him, nipping at his chin. "I want to make you scream."

"Mmm." Zack lifted his chin to give Michael better access to his throat, gasping and squirming when Michael latched on and sucked hard. "Does that mean you have something in mind?"

"Yes. Something new. Please, Zack."

"Hey, hey…" Zack wrestled an arm free and seized Michael around the waist. "Easy there. Since when do I say no to you? Ever? Let me get some water and I'm all yours, okay?"

Panting, Michael pulled back with a little laugh, shaking his head. "Okay. Sorry. I don't… I don't know what's wrong with me."

"This something new must be really wicked if it's got you this worked up." Zack gave him a wink and ducked under his arm to hustle to the kitchen.

I have to calm down. Am I getting sick? Can I get sick now? Michael counted out his breaths, slower and slower, forcing himself to focus on an image of clear, still water. When his heart had stopped its frenzied racing, he finally trusted himself to get out the items he wanted and turn down the sheets.

* * * * *

Colored light danced over the sandstone kitchen tiles. The sun had moved around the house far enough to illuminate the menagerie of suncatchers in the kitchen window.

"Don't look at me like that, Leonard," Zack muttered to the stained glass polar bear. "It's just… not usual."

He guzzled a second glass of water to give himself a moment, staring out the window through the glass animals. Michael grumbled that they obstructed the view of the garden, but he never made any move to take them down and he helped pick a name for each new addition. Leonard sat between Hortense, the otter and Priscilla, the cardinal. Farther down were Norbert, the squirrel and Brunhilde, the seahorse and so on. It had become a game, trying to outdo each other with wildly inappropriate names.

Michael's sudden aggression excited the hell out of him, sure. His hard cock bumped the counter, defying him to say otherwise. But there was that strange shadow feeling again clouding his arousal. Something was off. Zack had no direction for the feeling, no trail, so it most likely had nothing to do with Michael.

Still.

"You think I'm imagining things, don't you, Kingsley?" The red and black glass ladybug, Michael insisted it had to be male, had no answer for him. "Smoke and shadows. I should call Dad tonight, though. Just in case."

His odd misgivings dissipated when he returned to the bedroom, mist shadows banished by a break in the clouds. Michael lounged naked on the covers, the early afternoon sun burnishing his perfect skin to rose gold and setting sparks in his hair. A plain black box sat in front of him, long and slender, piquing Zack's curiosity.

"Whatcha got there, gorgeous?"

Michael shook his head with an impish smile. "Oh, no. You don't get to see until you're secure."

"Ah. How secure?" A niggle of anxiety lodged in Zack's stomach. Michael did like to push sometimes.

"I need you still for this."

"Not like I'm three. I can stay still."

Michael let out a helpless bark of laughter. "No, you can't. You're worse than a three-year-old. Can you promise not to twitch too much if we do hands only?"

"Can't make promises without knowing what the surprise is." He climbed up on the bed to run a hand down Michael's hip. There was no established top in their relationship, not in bed. Made things a hell of a lot more interesting, but he struggled with certain things still, even for Michael. Negotiations were still part of the bargain. "Hands only. And if I can't…"

"You'll tell me." Michael rose up on his elbow to press his lips against Zack's ear, his whisper full of sin and promise. "You'll enjoy this."

Zack laughed, dismissing his nerves, his nightmares, his instincts. It's Michael. You couldn't be safer, you idiot. He spread his arms wide, grinning down at his former guardian. "I'm all yours."

"Oh, yes." Michael rose up on his knees, pressing Zack back to lean against the headboard. "Yes, you are. Hand, please."

At least this was familiar. They'd realized early on in their bed sport that if Zack was going to be able to tolerate restraints, he couldn't be flat on his back. Michael licked the inside of his right wrist, the wet trail sending lightning jolts through Zack's groin. Willing himself to relax, he allowed Michael to lift the hand and use a red bandana to tie it to one of the top spindles of the headboard. The left hand received the same treatment, his arms spread at shoulder height, secure, but not stretched uncomfortably.

Michael kissed the tip of his nose, the gentle gesture settling some of the ache in Zack's stomach. "Okay?"

"Yeah." He was. Staring into those bright blue eyes, he smiled, trust washing through him like a sudden spring rain in a parched gully. He loved this man, this former angel, more than the hunt, more than the forests of Arcadia, more than sometimes he thought his heart could bear. "So whatcha got in the box?"

"Something that came in the mail yesterday." One of Michael's golden brows quirked up as he picked up the box and opened the hinged lid. He turned it to Zack, revealing a thin ten-inch-long steel rod that appeared to be constructed of small orbs. His cock practically snapped to attention, the damn thing was so intriguing.

"Is that… a sound?"

"Yes. A bubble sound, the description said. Inventive shape, don't you think?"

They had tried sounds before, smooth ones. "Yeah… bumpity-bump," Zack said on a breathy chuckle. Michael cut off his words with a hard kiss, crushing his mouth down onto Zack's with bruising force, a rumble rising from deep in his chest.

Zack pulled in a sharp breath through his nose, the sound pulling hard on already sensitized nerves. He pulled back from the kiss to whisper, "Are you growling?"

"I… yes, I guess so. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Zack nudged his nose under Michael's chin. "Don't be. Sexy as hell. Do it again."

Michael laughed, but the rumbling sound returned as he nuzzled and nipped his way down Zack's throat. Eyes sliding shut, Zack thumped his head back against the headboard when Michael's tongue described a warm, wet path down his treasure trail. A nip at his thigh—damn but Michael's teeth were sharp—and then he cried out as soft lips pushed back his foreskin.

"Tease too long and we won't get too far with this," Zack whispered while Michael lapped at his slit.

His fallen angel had apparently slid past verbal. All he got back was another growl. His hands were still gentle when he grasped the base of Zack's cock to hold it steady and retrieved the well-lubed sound. He raised his eyes, searching Zack's face.

"I'm ready. Go. Please."

Zack shivered as cold metal touched his slit. His stomach muscles clenched in anticipation as the first orb slid inside, the sensation odd and shivery, his cock instantly rock hard.

"Rivers of night… yes…" Zack pulled against his restraints, fighting to keep still as Michael pushed the sound in slowly, one incredible orb at a time, invading his channel, sending waves of shuddering pleasure up his spine.

"More?" Michael's voice was a rasping snarl.

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

At five orbs, Michael pulled the sound out by two and then pushed it back in, slowly—always slowly—too slow for Zack, but he clenched his back teeth and managed to hold back the whimper. When the rounded end finally hit his prostate, he hissed in an extremity of pleasure, legs splayed stiff and taut, toes curled.

"Right there?" Michael pulled back and tapped his prostate again.

"Yes! Oh… holy mother of… Michael!" Zack slammed his head back against the headboard several times. "It's too much. Pull it out, pull it out… I'm too close…"

"No."

The single word snapped Zack's eyes open. He found Michael staring at him, a strange, cold hunger in those bright blue eyes. "Michael, please. I have to come. It's not… there's no channel in this one… Michael?"

He swallowed hard as he stared into eyes he had known for decades, suddenly gone flat and alien. His vision must have darkened, because he seemed to imagine a red tinge to them. Now the whimper escaped. "Michael, please. Please, love…"

Michael twitched and blinked, his expression suddenly puzzled. He glanced down at his hand still holding the sound, back up at Zack's face, and he let out a little sound of dismay. With a firm hold on Zack's erection, he pulled the sound out, bump by sensual bump. Zack managed to hold out until the last three orbs before he came, his come chasing the sound up, shooting from him in pent-up geysers as he bellowed in relief and pained pleasure.

"Zack?"

A hand stroked his cheek. Pink clouds floated through his vision. He was lying flat. His hands unbound, his head in Michael's lap.

"Zack, I'm so sorry. I… are you all right?"

"What're you sorry for, sweetheart? That was amazing."

"You asked… I didn't… I don't know what I was thinking."

"Hey." Zack reached up to smooth back a curl of Michael's hair from his cheek, surprised at how his hand shook. "You pulled it in time. That was amazing. Intense."

"Too much?"

"Close. But not quite." He hated how shaken Michael looked, how pale and uncertain. So he'd had a true moment of dominance, so what? He couldn't let Michael dwell on it too much. "It was perfect. You're perfect, snookums."

Michael ducked his head on a snicker. "Babycakes."

"Schmoopykins."

"Kitten pie."

Zack smacked him with a pillow. "Butter butt."

Now Michael was laughing and smacked him back. "My little crinoline."

The pillow smacking turned into wrestling when Zack roared and rolled them both off the bed in a tangle of flailing limbs. In the ensuing tussle and grope session, Zack managed to pin Michael and suck him off with them both still giggling like idiots.

He finally collapsed with his head on Michael's shoulder, both of them panting, sweat and semen drying on their skin.

"I'm all right. You didn't hurt me." Zack almost asked, but are you sure you're all right? Michael looked so peaceful and content, though, he didn't want him going back to fretting. "Want to drive down to Rehoboth for dinner?"

"Dogfish Head?"

"Sure, if you want. Good food."

"Good beer. On draught."

"Sold." Zack grinned up at Michael and added, "Schmoopy muffin." He got a pillow in the face for getting the last word.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Zack was relieved to see Michael more himself, cheerfully slipping out of bed early to make coffee and breakfast, determined to join the bird count even if he wasn't quite awake. He seemed so much better than the previous day, more present and even-tempered as he went out to the garden to say good morning to his tree frog friend and to retrieve their bikes.

Zack put the odd behavior from the day before down to isolation. They hadn't been terribly social over the winter, and Michael loved crowds, loved being around people and talking to new acquaintances. Aggression simply wasn't Michael, and the hints and stabs of it had obviously upset him, unbalanced him so badly. Good to see him catch himself.

I have to remember. I can't keep him all to myself. It's not good for him.

Michael chatted happily on the bike ride over and remained serene all day, running temporarily captured birds back to the weighing stations and helping Zack in the water. One of the volunteers had brought a cooler full of sandwiches for lunch, so they were tired but not starving as they biked home together. If Zack hadn't been so focused on getting home for a nap, he might have noticed the abrupt change in Michael's mood.

"Share the shower with me?" Zack offered as he propped the bikes up against the shed.

"You go ahead." Michael was staring toward the back of the garden, his voice flat and odd. "I need to check on something."

Zack blinked, caught off guard by the chill tone, but he shrugged and went to wash off the sand and salt in the outside shower. He had just rinsed the sand from his hair when a shriek set his heart pounding.

"Michael!" He flung the wooden shower door open, and raced into the garden without stopping for a towel, just in time to see Michael hurl a rock at a lesser blue heron standing at the edge of the wildflower bed. "Michael, what the hell are you doing?"

Face a mask of rage, Michael leaned down to pick up another stone since the first had only clipped tail feathers.

"Michael!" Zack lunged and tackled him before he could hurl his second missile. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

For a moment, Michael struggled wildly, squirming and kicking underneath Zack. He risked a quick glance at the heron, in case it was something other than a heron, maybe a shapeshifter or a demon of some sort. No. Just a plain little heron. With frog legs dangling from her beak. Aw, damn.

"She killed him!" Michael roared, his angel's voice pitched to shatter granite. He flipped under Zack and renewed his struggles.

"Shh, shh, I see it. She ate your friend." Zack finally got hold of both of Michael's wrists and pinned him flat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But she's just doing what she was designed to do. Mama heron has to eat."

Still trying to buck Zack off, Michael let out a frustrated sound full of hurt and betrayal. "You said he was rare!"

"Rare for here. Michael, stop. Damn it, you know how it works, that nature isn't all Disney butterflies and fucking rainbows."

"She ate my friend. She has to pay." At least Michael's voice had softened to a growl.

"You don't need me to tell you it wasn't personal. You're not a kid. But you're acting out of anger and cruelty. Michael, look at me. This isn't like you."

Michael turned his head to glare at Zack, an odd red tinge veining through the blue of his eyes. "Get off!"

"No. Not until you calm the fuck down."

Another enraged bellow, another desperate struggle, and this time Zack barely hung on. He was damn tired already. Finally, Michael collapsed against the abused grass, shoulders shaking.

"C'mere." Zack relented and sat back, not caring one rat's ass if the neighbors saw him sitting buck naked in the yard. He pulled Michael up and held him tight, letting him sob. "I understand being angry. Just not… the best way to deal with it, right?"

Michael's answer was incoherent mumbling against Zack's shoulder. At least he had dropped the rock.

"Worried about you, you know? Something hasn't been right the past couple days. Anything you need to tell me?"

Michael shrugged, arms going around Zack's neck. "I feel… odd sometimes. These chills and weird spots."

Yeah, me too. Wish I knew why. "Could you be sick? Are there, I dunno, angel viruses?"

A muffled, hiccoughing chuckle came from Michael. "I've been asking myself the same thing."

"Okay. Great. That's just great. How about you take it easy today and let me fuss over you? I'll call my cousins and see if they know."

"Not Apollo. Please."

Zack rolled his eyes. "Never. Stuck up, self-righteous twit. Hermes might have a clue. He knows weird shit."

"Zack?"

"Hmm?" Zack moved his arms gently to help Michael up.

"You do know you're naked?"

"Yeah, I figured giving Mrs. Pendleton a free show wouldn't be a bad thing. I don't think she has much fun anymore."

Michael managed a snort, though he shivered in Zack's arms. "She can download porn like everyone else, then."

* * * * *

It wasn't a bad afternoon, as afternoons stuck in bed went. Zack fussed, maybe a little too much, trying to coax Michael into eating and then napping. The strange fit of anger had made him nauseous, though, and edgy. Dark red, arterial blood-red anger, it had descended over his vision like a noxious oil slick, thick and slippery, making his thoughts hard to chase and harder to pin down.

He had acted without reason, without compassion, with… hate. Some of his fallen brethren spent their lives consumed with it. How did they live inside those choking, vile confines? Some part of him knew his reaction had been horrible, while a whispering, insidious voice at the back of his mind reminded him of the power coursing through him, the dark, inhibited strength. Michael shivered and burrowed deeper under the blankets, concentrating on Zack whistling in the kitchen.

That's not me. It's never been me. I am fallen, but not one of the ones who changed. I'm still Michael. Zack's Michael. It was just a passing storm.

* * * * *

A storm stirred out on the bay. It reached fingers inland during the early afternoon, kicking up the wind and bringing the scent of restless waves. By the time Zack came back from the grocery store, dark clouds had obliterated the sky, shuttering the sun so midnight could visit early.

He had no fear of storms. The lightning would never dare touch him, beloved nephew of Zeus. But tonight the storm brought something with it, something dark and strange. He shivered as he got out of his Jeep and hurried to move Michael's hanging columbine planters to the door. Movement out in the garden caught his eye, furtive, clinging to the shadows.

"Michael?" Zack called, peering into the dark, squinting against the rising wind.

The shape moved, too large for Michael, misshapen somehow. Wishing he had a weapon at hand or at least one of his Arcadian hounds, Zack stepped off the porch to meet it. Whatever this was, it wasn't getting past him into the house where Michael slept.

"Who's there?" His voice cracked, not exactly the angry defiance he was going for.

A laugh floated to him across the garden, eerily familiar and oh-so-wrong. "Really? Already you don't recognize me? Zagreus… Zagreus…"

The figure stepped close enough for Zack to make out the humps at his shoulders. Wings. "Michael? But how—?"

"No stupid questions, Zack." The being took three steps closer. The voice was a chill parody of Michael's, as if some horrible soul leech had sucked out all the music and warmth. "No. You used to listen to me without question. I was the protector. The guardian. The guide. One way or another, I will be again. I'm asking you, now, to come with me willingly. Love me as I am, no matter what, as you promised."

"I… but what…"

This dark version of Michael held up a hand to cut him off. Huge wings spread out behind him, inky black, leathery wings so different from the beautiful, shining, white feathers Michael had as an angel. "I am fallen because of you. Because of your kiss, your love. I am this—" The wings shot out to their full extension, claws flashing in the single light on the back porch "—because of you! One chance, Zagreus. I am no mewling angel, now, no lickspittle lover for you to order about. Come with me willingly. Help me build my domain as a god, or by all the rivers of the Underworld, I will come back some day and take you by force."

Zack staggered back a step, icy hands around his heart. "Michael… whatever's happened, we'll fix it. We'll—"

"No! I'm not some broken toy! I've—"

"Zack!" Michael's voice, his familiar, soft voice, called from the house. "Who are you talking to out there?"

The dark Michael jerked back as if slapped. He snarled, and beat his wings as he leapt from the ground, a barely discernible blot on the tumultuous clouds as he flew away. Zack turned and dashed to the house, knowing he was wild-eyed and maybe a little crazy looking, but he had to see Michael, his Michael.

"Zack? Are you all right?" Michael's eyes searched his face and then the now-empty garden behind him. "Was that some sort of huge raptor?"

Zack cupped his angel's face in both trembling hands, uncertain of what to say, of how much to say, completely baffled by what he had seen. "Michael, I thought… it was the strangest thing. I thought it looked like you. But you were inside. Safe inside." He pulled Michael into a fierce hug, breathing him in, stroking the hollow dimples where his wings had been. "I don't know what that was."

"Did it hurt you? Are we safe?" For a moment, Michael was the guardian again, pushing Zack behind him into the house. "Zack?"

"I think it's… gone for now. It was just very strange. It felt like it shouldn't have been here. Shouldn't have existed at all. That doesn't make any sense, I know…"

"We'll lock the doors, just in case, and get your bow out of the closet. Did it say what it wanted?"

Zack shuddered once more before turning to flip on all the outdoor floodlights. "Me."

* * * * *

Over the next three days, the dark Michael didn't return. Zack would've been relieved over that fact if he had answers, but he'd talked to several of his cousins and no one could give him any useful tidbit. Worse, the real Michael's odd shifts in mood did return.

There weren't any quicksilver rages like that first one over his little frog's demise, but he was surly and irritable. Zack found himself walking on eggshells. Any little slip or attempt to tease caused offense. More than once, he found Michael curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing, choking on garbled words. The little Zack could make out sounded as if he couldn't remember how he had entered the room, hints of dislocation and missed time that sounded like the beginnings of dementia.

Hermes had no helpful advice other than to say most fallen angels weren't like Michael.

"Really, Herm?" Zack had snorted at him. "Thanks for the newsflash."

"Sorry I can't help. But, Zack, if he doesn't get better, call your dad. I don't think this is a medical thing. It sounds metaphysical to me. Hades is better with that end than the rest of us put together."

Zack had let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, I'll call him and his new boyfriend'll answer."

"You, my darling cousin, are going to have to get over that."

He didn't have time for the bizarre turn in his father's love life, though. Mom divorces him and he takes up with a homeless, alcoholic human. Sure, the rest of the family seemed to like the guy, but it was still… Damn it, Zack had his own problems. Right now, his Michael-problem was singing They Might Be Giants songs in the kitchen, so he felt reasonably sure that he could go to his study and get some paperwork done. He'd make chili for dinner, Michael's favorite, and they would talk about getting him some help.

After an hour, Michael slipped through the study door and sat in the chair by Zack's desk. "Hey." Zack offered a smile, which faltered when Michael didn't respond to it. "What's up?"

"The dark. It's back." Michael swallowed hard, but his face remained disturbingly stoic. "The way it was at first. When I fell. I have visions of destruction and horror…"

"Sweetheart, we got through this before." Zack reached out to take his hands, blinking in shock when Michael jerked back. "We'll get through it again."

"It's not going away. We've just delayed it. I'm fallen, Zack. I can't help what I'm becoming. You need to leave me. Now."

"You think I'm leaving you now, when you need me? You're out of your mind. No. Not before, not now."

"Before, the visions, the need for violence, they were nightmares." Michael leaned forward, his bright blue eyes earnest and haunted. "Now, they're daydreams." He stood and stalked out.

"Michael!" Zack's chair fell backward with a clatter as he scrambled after his lover. "Michael! Damn it!"

Michael poked his head around the corner of the kitchen, dishtowel and plate in hand. "What? Zack, I'm right here. What's wrong?"

Zack stopped in the doorway, taking in Michael's concerned expression. "The fuck, Michael? You come into my study to tell me that your daydreams are violent horror shows and then ask me what's wrong?"

Michael shook his head, his confusion all too real. "You're not making sense. I wasn't in your study. I've been in the kitchen this whole time."

"Then what… oh." Zack gathered Michael into his arms. "I'm sorry. I… something really bad is happening here. There's you, and then there's… other you. Damn it. I hate this."

"How does this other person get in here? How did he leave without me seeing him?" A note of panic wormed its way into Michael's voice. "Who is he?"

"I don't know, hon. I don't know anything. But I think we should pack a couple of bags and go upstate to see my dad. We have to get out of this house. Now."

"All right. I think… that makes sense."

"And I'm not letting you out of my sight again." Zack kissed Michael's forehead, trying to comfort him, trying to lay claim, trying to reassure himself of something real and solid.

They packed in haste, a single duffle with a few changes of clothes. Zack swept the contents of the bathroom counter into the duffle, not wanting to take the time to sort necessary from not. Good thing we never got around to the dogs and cats we wanted. No one but us to worry about.

Michael stayed close, his worried frown not budging an inch, but his hands moved with steady purpose, his eyes hard and determined. They locked up the house, something they rarely did on a normal day, and climbed into the Jeep.

"I'm going up Route 1," Zack began, as he backed down the gravel drive.

"No. I hate that road."

"Hell of a lot faster."

"I know, but it's not like the back way is that much longer. Route 9, please? So I can see the marshes. It's… it'll just feel better."

"Okay. For you." Zack patted Michael's knee. Long car rides made his angel nauseous enough, and the long stretch of boring toll road did tend to make it worse.

It was still too early in the season for all but the most dedicated beach migrants, so the roads were clear, and the back roads Zack took nearly deserted. The marshes they drove past slowly shifted from tidal to freshwater, green and rutting with life. He opened his window to hear the birds and frogs singing, pulling in a deep breath full of damp earth and relief.

No dark shape pursued them in the sky. No strange figure appeared along the road to stop them.

"We'll be all right," Zack said, as much to shore up his own courage as to reassure Michael. "Dad will know what this is all about, or he'll point us to someone who does."

"Of course." Michael managed a weary smile. "We're not alone and we should have done this earlier."

Yes. Damn it. I'm so sorry. "Yeah, the family's always telling me I'm too stubborn to accept help."

"You're not. It just takes you longer."

Zack reached across and took Michael's hand, their fingers entwined on Michael's denim-clad thigh as they rode for several miles in silence. The delicate whites and yellows of bloodroot and pale flashes of purple wild geraniums peppered the road's edges, peeking between the dancing green of marsh grasses. Peaceful, beautiful, all as it should be…

"Zack."

He turned to see Michael had paled, his free hand gripping white-knuckled on the door handle. "Don't feel so good?"

"A little off. Could we stop for a minute?"

Zack drove until he found a gravel pull-off and got out of the car with Michael. He'd hoped Michael would've held out a little longer, but this was the normal pattern. More than half an hour in a car and Michael needed to "stretch his legs," his euphemism for "stop the car before I puke on the upholstery."

A red-winged blackbird trilled close by, a short flash of wings betraying his position to the left. Zack came around the hood and took Michael in his arms, grateful when Michael leaned into him instead of pulling away. "Better?"

"Hmm. A little odd. But not like I'm going to be sick."

The sunlight caressed Michael's hair, creating a halo illusion as the wind toyed with white-blond strands. Water reflections danced along his throat, and Zack's chest expanded with fierce love and exasperated sorrow. He leaned in to kiss those shadow-dance motes, encouraged as Michael tipped his head back and gave a pleased little moan. Shoving the neck of Michael's T-shirt aside with his nose, he continued kissing along his collarbone as he kept an eye on where solid ground ended, and backed Michael behind a screen of waist-high grass.

"Zack, someone might see," Michael said with a little laugh, but it wouldn't be the first time in semi-public. They'd both agreed that the thrill of possible discovery added to the excitement.

"Too bad. You smell so damn good." And I miss you. We haven't made love for days. Zack sank to his knees, nuzzling the growing bulge behind Michael's zipper, smiling when Michael clutched his head with a gasp.

He popped the button and slid the pull down carefully since most days Michael went commando. Today was no exception, and that beautiful, pale cock practically leaped out to greet him. Zack hummed as he wrapped his lips around the foreskin, pushing back so he could lick the tip.

Michael cried out and dug his fingers hard into Zack's hair. His thighs already trembled, and he growled as Zack kept up his teasing licks. Suddenly the grip on Zack's hair became painful, and Michael's next cry wasn't a pleasured one.

Startled, Zack tore his head from Michael's grip while Michael doubled over in agony.

"Michael!" Zack caught him before he fell to his knees. "What is it?"

Even as his panicked words tumbled into the suddenly too-quiet air, a terrible ripping sound came from Michael's back, two strange bulges threatening to tear through his T-shirt.

"No… oh, mother of us all, no." Zack held tight to Michael's shuddering frame, his horror mounting as black protrusions ripped through the cotton, growing outward and expanding.

Michael keened and sobbed, beating against Zack's chest with one fist until he finally had to yank away, retching on his hands and knees, the black bone-like structures at his shoulder blades twisting and reaching upward. All Zack could do was stay near, trying to help Michael through the terrible pain. He didn't ask what was happening. He knew. He knew, and had no way to stop it. Helplessness only made the gut-wrenching panic worse.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he murmured, as he took Michael's twitching body back in his arms. "No matter what. I'm here. I don't care what's happening. I do care, but it doesn't matter to me what you become. I love you. It's just another change. I'll always love you."

"Zack." Michael lifted his head, his eyes glistening with tears. "Run. Go. Please."

"No. Fuck, no. I don't care if you're changing. Not running."

Michael tangled his fists in the front of Zack's T-shirt, panting. He seemed to have a moment where the pain let up and he rested his head on Zack's shoulder, shivering hard. "I love you, too. Just… remember that."

The moment of peace shattered into a thousand cut-glass shards when Michael threw his head back and howled in pain. He shoved away from Zack, ripping off the remnants of his ruined T-shirt. The black wing stems shivered and unfurled in an explosion of growth. Red dendrites ran through the blue of Michael's eyes. He shrieked and spun, trying to tear at the horrible black wings growing from his back, whirling in mad, jerking circles.

"Michael, stop! I know it hurts, but they're just wings! It'll be okay! Sit the hell down before you hurt yourself!"

The only response he received was more agonized shrieking and a wing slapped in his face. The pain had obviously invaded all of Michael's brain since he snarled and snapped bone-white teeth when Zack reached for him. He struck out at Zack, knocking him to the ground, then with a final earsplitting howl, he leapt into the air, beating his wings in desperate, uneven downstrokes.

Zack tried to grab his ankle, to pull him back down, but it was too late. The last he saw of Michael was as a black blot winging away against the bright blue spring sky.

Chapter Three

"I'll let the front gate know you're coming." The impossibly deep voice was flat and emotionless, but Zack didn't read into that. For his dad, that was normal.

"Thanks. Dad?"

"Zagreus?"

"I'm not sure any of this really happened. I might just have gone nuts."

A snort indicated his father's impatience with that line of thinking. "Point me to a completely sane god. You saw what you saw."

Zack appreciated his father's calm since he still had the shakes from the soul-wrenching interlude on the marsh bank. If he thought too much about Michael flying away from him, his heart would break into a thousand messy, screaming pieces. There wasn't time for that. He needed answers. He needed to solve this. Then he could track Michael down and fix this.

The ridiculously expensive condo Hades shared with his faithful companion, Charon, and, now, this human boy—man, overlooked the Brandywine River in the middle of Wilmington. Zack had tried to tease his father when he purchased it, asking if he thought he was a hobbit now. He knew better, of course. Hades didn't often understand jokes, and pop culture references were like a foreign language.

For the last century, his relationship with his father had been difficult, and Zack knew that was his fault, mostly. But his father's solid presence and his deductive skills were what he needed now. Thank all the holies that they were on good terms again. He was almost looking forward to the visit.

Then Dad has to ruin it by letting his boyfriend answer the door.

"Oh, hi! You must be Zagreus." The human in the doorway smiled at him, hand extended.

This? This was what he ran to when Mom tossed him out? The young man in front of Zack was gangly and scrawny, all knees and elbows, with a mop of rust-brown hair and mud-brown eyes.

"Zack. Everyone calls me Zack." The growl in his voice could be excused by a shitty couple of days, right? And the hesitation in taking that hand to shake didn't make him a dick. Too much of a dick.

"Your dad doesn't." The guy's voice was soft and apologetic. Damn it, he had a name. Something Roman and weird. Whatever his name was, he'd flushed bright red.

Great. I really am being a dick. "Um, yeah. Is he here?"

They were saved from social awkwardness by a huge dog with dinner-plate paws and a broad mastiff build, bounding down the entry hall. Most people would have been terrified. Zack went down on one knee to greet her, ruffling her floppy ears. "Hey, Nike. Who's a pretty girl?"

The young man—Tiberius, that's the guy's name!—let out a bark of laugher. "Well, if I didn't know you were his son before, I sure as hell do now. The dog thing."

He managed half a smile, despite his heart cracking in his chest. "Yeah, the dog thing. She's a beauty."

"Our princess. She knows it, too. Even has Charon wrapped around her little toe. Come on in. Your dad's on the phone with Osiris." Tiberius might have muttered I can't believe I just said that, but Zack couldn't be sure. "You okay? He wouldn't give me details, but his muttering sounded kinda bad."

"It's… hard to explain."

"Man of few, uncomfortable words." Tiberius shook his head as he led the way into the condo. "Also like your dad."

Zack had been in his father's residence before—this new one in the human world—but both times, his human lover had been away on business. It was more than strange to finally meet him, this person who had stolen the Lord of the Underworld's affections. Not that Zack could accuse him of trying to replace his mom. Persephone had initiated the divorce. Tiberius had come along later to pick up the pieces.

"Tiberius—"

"Ti, please. I'm not a Roman emperor. Or a Star Trek character. You want anything? Water? Cranberry juice? Iced tea?"

Damn it. Smart. Funny. Hospitable. Apparently, he wasn't going to get a chance to hate the boyfriend. "Thanks, no. I'm good." Zack sank into the leather of his father's enormous sofa, absently petting the dog head that came to rest on his knee. Hades's voice came from the study at the front of the condo, his deep rumble rising and falling in conversation.

Ti moved a sketchpad from one of the overstuffed recliners and sat with his feet tucked under him. "So. God of the hunt? Is that right?"

"Sort of. Not like my cousin, Artemis. I don't kill what I catch, but yeah. I'm more of a resurrection god, though, you know, like Mithras and shit like that."

Twirling a pencil in his fingers, Ti gave him a half smile. "Mithras and shit. Right. So you had… a bunch of lives?"

Zack stared out the window, trying to see anything besides black wings and Michael's agony.

"I'm sorry. I'm prying. Just thought you might want to talk about, you know, something else."

"Not really a happy subject either." Zack cleared his throat, trying to modify the growl. He held up a hand when it looked like Ti would apologize again. Why does he have to be so nice? "It's fine. Something else to talk about."

Zack rolled his shoulders, keeping his eyes glued to the dog at his feet. "It's really hard for Mom and Dad. You need to remember that. Don't bring up the subject with him." He glanced up quickly and got a bobble-head nod from Ti. "The first time was centuries ago. Grandma Rhea was babysitting. Grandma went out to her garden for a bit. Some of the great aunts and uncles were visiting. They were still pissed at Dad for the whole war thing."

"The war with the Titans?"

"Yeah. They, ah, ripped me into little pieces."

"What? Holy shit! That's awful!"

Zack shook his head. "I don't remember it. But Dad went a little nuts. He found my heart still in one piece and, don't ask me how, I don't know how half this stuff works, he planted it in a human woman's womb where I grew into a whole god again. He and Grandma Rhea don't talk much anymore. He thought she didn't try hard enough to stop it. She still blames him for the whole Titanomachy thing."

"And the second time?"

"Jealous lover thing. At least I was grown up this time. Tied down and ripped apart by crazy, carnivorous horses." Still not good with restraints… Don't think about that.

"But you didn't really, um, die? I thought gods didn't really…" Ti trailed off, probably unable or unwilling to voice the thought that most gods faded eventually and simply vanished.

"I did. Die. You know, resurrection god? I get to come back."

"Do you remember being dead? How many times do you… how many chances do you get?"

"I don't." Zack fought his clenched teeth against that sore point. No, damn it, he didn't remember being dead and it bugged the hell out of him. "And I don't know how many times. This shit doesn't come with a manual."

"Sorry. I get curious. Just tell me to shut up if I ask the wrong questions. Charon does."

Zack cracked his neck and managed a dry chuckle. "Yeah, Char would. I just don't know how to answer. I mean, Osiris only came back once, right? And even that carpenter guy only did the resurrection thing once. But the Summer King does it all the time. Don't know if there's a limit per customer or not."

Ti cocked his head to the side like a finch checking out a berry. "You're not what I expected."

Zack raised an eyebrow, wondering whether he was about to be offended.

"His son. I was picturing someone both hard and refined. Someone more Underworld-y."

"That's so not a word. Sorry to disappoint. I haven't spent as much time down in Dad's realm as you might think. I like the human world and my own realm better."

"Forests of Arcadia." Ti shot him a shy, wistful smile. Fine, that's a gorgeous smile. Maybe he is sort of good-looking. "It must be beautiful."

"I like it. We share, Artemis and I do, but we're both cool with that. She doesn't usually like guys in her territory, but she's fine with me."

"'Cause you're gay?"

"'Cause I'm quiet and I know how to handle a bow."

Ti burst out laughing, then clapped his hand over his mouth and blushed at the noise.

"You're not what I expected, either," Zack admitted, back to staring at the floor. "So long as you make him happy. All I ask."

The "him" in question chose that moment to appear on silent feet and kiss Ti on top of his head. "He does," Hades declared with a stone-serious expression.

Damn him for being the quietest being ever to walk the planet. When Zack stood, he was just a hair shorter than his father, but the volume, both physical and psychic, that he displaced in any room always made him seem so much larger. "Dad, I—"

Hades shocked the breath out of his only son by yanking him into a hard embrace and murmuring in his ear, "I'm sorry, Zagreus. So sorry this has happened to you."

"Thanks," Zack whispered, taking advantage of the unexpected refuge of his father's broad shoulder to swallow back tears. "I don't know what to do."

Hades pulled back, blue eyes the shade of a clear winter evening regarding him steadily. "I know. Sit down. Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Everything." Even during the simple act of crossing the room to sit in the largest black leather armchair, Hades exuded power and grace. He settled, regal, unhurried, reminding Zack that his father had weighed the relative merits of thousands of lives with patient, evenhanded justice. This was what he did, in his old life as a ruler of the dead and in his new life as a private investigator. He assembled bits of truth and decided how they fit together.

Zack sank back down on the sofa, and Nike put her head back on his knee as if realizing he needed the moral support. After a few slow breaths, he began, starting with his odd feelings of impending doom and ending with Michael's agonizing metamorphosis. When he finished, his father prodded him through the telling again, and then a third time, Zack's anguish and frustration mounting with each recounting.

"Hey." Ti nudged Hades's shoulder and set a bottle of water in front of Zack. "He's your son, not a suspect, right? Ease up."

"I merely—"

"Oh, I know what you merely, Mr. Dig Right Through No Matter What. Just turn off the interrogation spotlight and go gentle, okay? Zack's trying, but making him more upset won't help him remember."

Zack thought he might have to pick his jaw up from the first floor lobby on the way out. No one talked to his dad like that. Maybe Dionysus, but Dio was crazy. This skinny human said a few words and Lord Hades sat back and shut up? Any other day, it would've been hilarious.

"Thanks, Ti." Zack held up a hand. "But it's fine. Dad, it's fine. Whatever you need to do if it helps."

Hades's silver eyebrows stayed elevated a moment longer, then he nodded to Ti, some obvious understanding passing between them. Ti tucked back into his chair with his sketchpad as the questions focused on specifics, Hades pulling out things Zack didn't even realize he remembered. The quiet, methodical interrogation left him shaking.

"Here, your lordship." Ti handed over his sketchpad, doodles and odd diagrams from what Zack could see.

Hades looked it over with a heavy frown before he got up to pace. The dog left Zack to follow him with anxious glances up at his face. When Hades stopped to stare out at his personal view of the Brandywine, Nike sat beside him. The frown had only deepened.

"If Ti's timeline portrays events accurately—"

Ah, that's what the scribbling was.

"—and I believe it does, then there are other hands in this. Zagreus, I have things to tell you that you will not wish to hear."

"Dad, please. Just spit it out." Zack unclenched his fists, willing his hands to relax. The knot in his chest, he couldn't do much about. "Anything you can tell me. I have to help Michael."

Hades locked his hands behind his back, a granite statue glaring out the window. "I've known several of the fallen. They don't all descend into evil. Some retain the larger part of their compassion. But they all change. Soon, late. All of them change."

"Almost twenty-five years since his fall, Dad. That's a hell of a delay of symptom onset."

"True." Hades nodded without turning around. "Michael's nature, his relationship with you, I believe impeded the process. This is why I suspect interference. On his own, Michael may have changed soon, but most likely gradually, in increments he could have tolerated."

"What are you saying? That someone sped it up?"

"Someone wasn't willing to wait. In order to accelerate Michael's metamorphosis, this interfering hand rewove the fabric of time itself."

Zack dropped his aching head into his hands. "Could you stop the mysterious pronouncements and just say what you're thinking?"

"What he's trying to say—" Ti reached over and put a hand on his knee. "— is someone's been shoving Michael back and forth through time. Think about it, right? The thing you saw in the garden was Michael, but future Michael. Not the one that was in the house at the time. The one who came into your study, same thing, different bit of the timeline. Someone messed with his timeline enough, yanked him back and forth enough, they made this happen before Michael was ready, before he could process it and deal with it."

"How the fuck, excuse my language, do you know all this?" Zack yanked his knee out of Ti's grip, furious for no reason.

Ti flicked a glance toward the window. "We talked about it before you came. He suspected. The things you said just firmed it up."

"Great. Of course he has all the answers." Zack hurled himself to his feet to pace, a frenzied mirror of his father's actions. "Of course. So tell me, Dad, who is it? Who's the piece of shit screwing around with my Michael?"

Again, Hades began with a non-answer. "Sometimes, when a god no longer has a place in human minds and begins to fade, he does not do so quietly. Some go mad. Gods of fate and time are more apt to become unstable."

"Fate and time? You mean grandfather's not dead?"

"Cronos is quite dead, never fear. No, the way in which this was done, the chaotic cruelty of it, I suspect it was Mammetun."

Zack stopped his pacing to scrub both hands over his face. "And who in all creation's pantheons is that?"

"She was… is the Sumerian goddess of fate. Reduced to a Wikipedia reference and a single line in the Epic of Gilgamesh. I can't imagine she would be pleased with that."

"Great. Fantastic. So I have to find Fading Angry Sumerian Bitch Goddess?"

Hades finally turned from the window and strode over to wrap his arms around Zack. "I doubt you need to. She has a purpose and will most likely find you."

"What purpose? What the fuck, Dad?"

"I can't even begin to imagine. She will come to you, though. I have no doubt. Stay with us, Zagreus. We have the extra room. Walk the banks of the river, the streets. Wait for her to come to you. More likely here, since she was a deity of cities."

"I can't just wait." Zack shivered, and finally returned the embrace, needing his father's solid warmth. "Michael… who knows what's happening to him?"

"It's already happened," Ti said softly from his chair. "And you can't fix anything without more intel, right? Know what's behind it so you can figure out how to fix it?"

"I guess." Zack rested his head on his father's shoulder. "No enemy but time, right?"

"What's that?"

"Sorry. Poem that Michael liked. I always thought it was too damn sad. The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time. Something like that."

"Time is only the enemy of the unwary." Hades backed up to take Zack by the shoulders. "You have been ever vigilant."

Zack swallowed hard but he nodded. His father was, after all, the first to have killed time.

Chapter Four

"This is bullshit," Zack muttered to himself, and took another sip of his beer. They didn't have anything great on draught, which only made him think about how funny Michael would have thought this place was. A place that was trying to be casual upscale and yet listed Blue Moon as a "craft brew" on the menu. Incredible.

Over the last three days, he'd taken his father's advice. He had wandered the city, through lunchtime crowds and deserted two-in-the-morning streets, through the parks and the riverfront district. So far, Mammetun hadn't showed.

Even a grieving, angry minor god got hungry eventually, though. Today he'd picked one of the riverfront restaurants with a patio so he could stay outside and still feel like he could breathe. While the beer selection was sub-par, the hummus wasn't bad.

He felt her before he saw her, a sharp, brittle presence. Such a strange, alien feeling—saltines with malice, flaking paint chips dipped in uneasy viciousness. For the second time that month, he wished he'd thought to go armed, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea to whip out a forearm-long hunting knife in a crowded restaurant.

No stealth, no dissembling as she approached him. She wanted him to see her, and she smiled, lifting her oversized sunglasses from violet eyes when he spotted her. Perhaps she was fading as a goddess, but among humans? She was still incredibly beautiful. Thick, black hair tumbled in ringlets down her back, copper skin smooth and flawless. Regal assurance infused every step, aloof and serenely confident that men would worship her with their eyes as she passed.

Most did, poor fools, some practically falling out of their chairs to follow her passage. They couldn't see what Zack saw, his eyes locked with hers. Those eyes were more than a little crazy. He fought a shiver and rose to greet her.

"Mammetun."

"You know me," she said in a voice of honey and dark raspberry wine. "Of course my hunter knows me."

"Where's Michael?"

She slid into the seat across from him, the dove gray of her sundress somehow bright in the patio's shade. "My first Enkidu was a terrible mistake."

"Pardon?"

"But you… you are magnificent. Intelligence and strength, a hunter who can both think and act."

"Great. I'm not really up to flirting right now. Can we get to Michael?"

"He was to have destroyed Gilgamesh, the defiler, the arrogant blasphemer. He was my instrument. Brutish and stupid, he failed. He had no understanding of the winds of destiny and, instead, fell in love."

"Um, I think I remember the story. But Enkidu died horribly, right? And Gilgamesh eventually figured out he was mortal and had to accept it. What does this have to do with Michael?"

"I have stirred the winds of time. A new Gilgamesh arises in your kingdom, my hunter. Walls of stone and walls of contempt. You will be my Enkidu this time. You will bring down this Gilgamesh in all his contemptuous vanity."

"Don't think I want to be your anything, honestly. Why should I do anything for you?"

She smiled, a crooked slash of full lips as she rose from her chair. "He will give you no choice. In Arcadia, you will be my Enkidu because you will have no choice."

"Wait… what?" Zack took a step after her, but she was gone. He sank back down in his chair, shaking. "Well, that was bizarre. And unhelpful. But mostly bizarre."

When he returned to the condo, Charon was there as well. All three of them sat waiting in the living room with variations of expectant expressions as if they knew. Hell, they probably did. His dad felt things that happened around him, especially in a place where he felt grounded. He probably had sensed Mammetun's appearance in his chosen city.

Charon got up to offer him the recliner. "Good hunting, my young lord?"

Towering and cadaverously thin, sharp-toothed and sharp-tongued, most beings, mortal or otherwise, found Charon creepy. To Zack, he was the one who had taught him, twice, the names of the Underworld rivers, had shown him the wonders of the deepest caverns and had patiently taught him how to row. Eccentric, but not creepy.

"She found me. But you guys know that already."

"Your dad thought so," Ti confirmed, pulling his gangly legs up to his chest. "Did she tell you anything? I mean anything useful?"

Zack took the offered chair, suddenly exhausted and depressed. "She's nuts. Completely, bug-fuck nuts."

Hades leaned forward in his chair throne, arms on his knees. "Word for word, Zagreus. What was said?" Head down, eyes closed, he listened to Zack's careful recounting as he tried to remember every phrase, every word.

There hadn't been much. They waited, focused silently on Hades until he finally raised his head.

"You'll find Michael in Arcadia. What seed she planted in his mind, I can't tell you. But he will be there."

Zack rose slowly, heart picking up speed. "Dad, you're sure?"

Hands held out, Hades spoke softly as if he addressed a frightened dog. "Zagreus, listen to me. She manipulates you both for her own designs, using you to restage what she sees as her greatest failure. Michael as the Gilgamesh to your Enkidu."

"But that's good, right? They loved each other."

"Um, yeah." Ti shifted restlessly. "But, see, they weren't supposed to. Enkidu was supposed to kill Gilgamesh 'cause he pissed off the gods."

Right. Maybe I better read up. "I'm not killing Michael. Really doesn't matter what crazy-eye goddess wants. I'm just going to find him and bring him home."

"He may be changed, Zack," Charon added, pointing a claw in Zack's direction. "More than you thought possible. He may not want to come home. He is fallen. Maybe this was inevitable."

Zack fought back all the childish things that wanted out—from none of you ever liked him, to bunch of bigots, you think the fallen are all the same. "It's Michael. I can't just leave him out there and hope he comes home. He lost his wings because I kissed him, because I love him. We fought through his dark moods then. We can do it again. He's depending on me. He needs me."

"The guardian's guardian." Charon shook his head, his long, white hair throwing bright sparks from the sunset. "Want help? Me, your dad, half a dozen cousins just a phone call away. For once, tough guy?"

"Love you guys for offering, but no." Zack held up his hand at his father's growl. "We all descend on Arcadia like an army and we'll freak him out. He'll fly away and I'd never find him again."

A small twitch under Hades's left eye made Zack flinch in response. He'd managed to hurt his father, again. The last time had been in nineteen thirty-one, when he told his father he was moving out on his own. Living in the Underworld was too dreary and confining for him. The stupid things young gods said.

Yes, Hades had known his son needed to rule over his own dominion at some point. Not that Zack, in his third life, was the powerful god he had been in his second, when he had actual worshippers. The Reborn God, the Tamer of Wild Things, he had cults all his own in the ancient world, for all the holies' sakes. But he still had enough humans who remembered him to retain his power and sanity, enough that he couldn't live under his father's dark, protective wing.

But I have to get better at saying shit like that to him.

"Dad, I know you'd be careful. Diplomatic. But if it's anyone but me, I'm scared to death Michael's going to run."

The barest lift of a silver eyebrow let Zack know he'd hit that just right. He wondered how Ti dealt with all the non-expressions or if Hades was miraculously more open in private moments with his lover.

"Do what you must. Though what you wish and what you must may well collide."

Zack gave his father a nod, the lead ball in his stomach telling him it was true, and strode for the door.

"Hey!" Ti called after him. "Don't you need to pack up your stuff?"

"Won't need it where I'm going." Zack stopped by the front door to retrieve his bow from the hall closet. Not that he would ever shoot Michael, but the weapon proved useful at the oddest times. "Keep everything here for when I bring him back."

High clouds drifted overhead, the bird chorus echoing off the hills. He strode down the near bank of the Brandywine and walked out of the human world into the forests of Arcadia.

Chapter Five

Green so bright it blinded and pierced the heart, green so overwhelming and joyous it plunged without regard over hurt and sorrow—this was Arcadia. Zack dropped his head back, drinking in the machine absence and the exuberant life racket of his own realm, regrouping, recharging, and reconnecting with this half of his soul.

He opened his eyes to the forest, his forest with ash, oak, cedar, and pine murmuring in recognition. Deer poked their heads from a nearby thicket. Several squirrels ran toward him with crazy abandon, along the branch highways high above. If he stood still, every moving creature within the sound of his voice would come to greet him, the returning forest lord. Michael had always called it the Disney Moment.

"Is he here?" Zack whispered to the trees. "Have you seen him?"

Branches swayed, leaves murmuring a song of sorrow. Yes, Michael had come. He was here. The younger pines whispered of anger and dismay. Something had happened here that even the trees censured. Unlike certain Disney characters, though, Zack couldn't really talk to the creatures of his forest, not in human words. He would have to feel his way through his domain, find the disturbance on his own. In such a peaceful, unspoiled place, this would be absurdly easy.

But this would be on his terms, at his pace—

"Hunter."

Or not. "Mammetun." Zack turned to face her. "Quite a change of clothes."

She stood barefoot, artfully posed on a mossy hillock in the clearing, her curves sheathed in a dress of shining black feathers that almost seemed to sprout from her skin. "Gilgamesh waits behind his walls. He defiles this sacred place, as he has ever defiled the sacred beauty in his reach."

"Walls."

"He builds a new city, my Enkidu, in defiance of holy law, in defiance of you."

"Let's be clear on something. I'm not your anything." Zack yanked off his boots and socks, letting his toes curl in the grass and leaves of his home. "And what the hell are we talking about here? What's the city a metaphor for?"

Her smile turned predatory, both condescending and threatening. "Come, hunter. Sometimes a wall is simply a wall." She walked away, toward the heart of the forest, her ebony and ink ringlets floating behind her despite the still air.

Zack stripped off his shirt, slung his bow across his body, and followed her. Naked would have been better to feel the flow of life energy around him, but somehow he wasn't comfortable stripping in front of Mammetun. Her creepy-crazy eyes made him feel exposed enough.

The forest had grown silent around them, birds and insects alike hiding in hushed silence from what they felt as an unwelcome presence. Mammetun strode on, undisturbed by the eerie hush, her twisted half smile not at all comforting. At a screen of junipers, she stopped and plunged her hands into the branches preparing to part them.

"Behold, Enkidu," she announced in a gloating purr. "The new city of Uruk."

Anger and horror slammed into him as he stared at the abomination in front of him. Rough-hewn granite blocks rose in a storm-gray wall in front of him, four stories high. Here was the source of all the trees' anger and dismay, dozens of trees ripped from the soil, thrown carelessly about the artificial clearing to make room for this monstrosity. Bits of smaller bushes and understory plants littered the carcasses of old-growth trees, uprooted saplings tossed onto the piles.

My beautiful trees, how could anyone do this?

"He will not cease in his destruction," Mammetun whispered in his ear. "It will continue until your domain is in ruins. You must end it."

"Fuck, yes. Who the hell would do this?"

A figure appeared at the top of the wall, peering down, the face horrifyingly familiar.

No. Please… no.

"Zagreus!" Michael called down from the wall in the chill voice Zack recalled from the strange garden visitation. "You've come!"

Zack rounded on Mammetun, prepared to ask what the hell she had done, but she had vanished again. "Convenient. Damn it." It's not Michael's fault. He's been manipulated every step of the way. Breathe. Calm. Calm. When he felt he could speak without snarling or breaking down, Zack tilted his head back and bellowed, "Michael, come down here! Talk to me! What in the name of all the rivers is this?"

"This?" Michael perched atop his ugly-ass granite wall, feet swinging over the edge. "My city, sweetheart. Where we'll live when you finally realize the truth."

"What truth? That you've murdered my trees and erected this abomination in my domain?" So much for staying reasonable. Crap.

Michael's laugh chilled him, tarnished silver falling on cold stone. "Your domain? Oh, no, no. You're a weak minor godling. You hit your peak a couple thousand years ago. But it's all right. I'll take care of you, as I always said I would. My domain, my love. Not yours anymore."

"I don't get it, Michael." Zack took a step back so he didn't have to tilt his head quite so far back. "You've always been welcome here. I never closed Arcadia to you. And you've always loved the trees so much. Why build this… fucking monstrosity?"

He didn't ask how Michael had done it in less than four days. That was an indication of power, of the terrible surge of it Michael must have experienced.

Michael tipped his head with a frown. "It's my city. My fortress. To keep us safe from the world. Some day, someone's going to try to kill you again. I have to keep you safe. And I certainly won't destroy all the trees. You'll have plenty of space to play with your animal friends, still."

The condescension, the arrogance in those words made Zack swallow hard against the knot of rage and anguish in his throat. "I love you, Michael, but when you slice into my domain, you stab at me. No more."

Of course, he didn't have wings like some people. He stalked along the perimeter, not surprised at all to find no door or gate. Along the way, he pulled a couple of thick ivy vines and looped them over one shoulder to use instead of rope. Closer inspection of the wall showed close-set stones but no mortar. With cracks just wide enough between for fingers and toes to get a grip, Zack began to climb, grimly determined to take Michael down, truss him up, and take him home.

"Oh, my love." Michael rose on leathery wings to hover just over the wall, his laugh cold enough to freeze nitrogen. "You'll have to learn the hard way. Of course, you will. So damn stubborn."

Those huge black wings drew back, blotting out the sun, and swept forward with a rushing boom of displaced air. The resulting wall of air slammed into Zack's chest, breaking his grip. As he fell, another whirlwind struck him, throwing him thirty feet back into the trees. They tried to cradle him, branches catching at him as he fell so he landed nearly on his feet, scratched, sore, but whole.

Fine. Frontal assault without a plan. Not my best idea.

He retreated into his forest to think. Michael had wings, but once snared, Zack was certain he was still the stronger of the two of them. After dark, he had the advantage. Michael had never liked the dark, and his night vision sucked. Yes. Better. Maybe with actual rope for a lasso, in case Michael simply took wing. He was badly shaken but not beaten. Later, he'd have to figure out what to do with the stinking wall, but that would have to wait until Michael was sane again.

* * * * *

The moon set sometime after midnight. Under the heavy blanket of stars, Zack had just enough light to see, where most diurnal creatures would be blind. He hung his bow from the branch of the yew that kept guard over his hunting horn while he was out in the human world.

The horn… he could have used it to call Artemis. Even if his cousin were visiting the human world, she would still hear it and come to him. But, damn it, he could fight his own battles. She was the best, no arguments from him there. Problem was she was as likely to shoot Michael as to help trap him. Certainly wouldn't be the first time she shot first and asked later. The horn would also call his beautiful Arcadian greyhounds, but he didn't want them in harm's way.

Stripped to his boxer briefs, vine rope slung across his body, grappling hook fashioned from a gnarled bit of fallen ironwood, Zack set off at a run toward the invading wall. Here in his own element, he was silent, his feet flying over the uneven ground as sure as any deer.

At the bottom of the wall, he crouched, listening. A few yards to the left, Michael slept atop his monstrous construction, and Zack's chest ached at the familiar, peaceful rhythm of his breaths. That sound should have been in their bed, Michael's head nestled on his pillow, or more often, Zack's, since he rooted closer most nights.

Or he used to.

No, he couldn't think that way. Fear lurked in the corners of his mind, terrible fear that Michael would never come home, that nothing would ever be the same, that he would lose his heart and his reason to live because of the machinations of an unstable, dying goddess. If he gave the fear room to maneuver, it would spread into every corner of his thoughts like invasive weeds and choke him, paralyze him. No. He had to keep going, keep moving. Action drowned fear.

He shook out his impromptu grappling line and swung the hook in a tightly controlled circle before he tossed it at the top of the wall. A soft plink let him know his aim was good, and he tugged carefully until it caught on the edge. A few harder tugs to make certain the hook was settled, and Zack pulled himself up, setting his feet against the rough stone to take some of his weight as he climbed.

When he reached the top, his breath caught hard in his throat. Michael lay on his side, one wing folded against his back, the other draped forward across his body. Despite the leathery wings, he looked like Zack's angel again, his face vulnerable and open in sleep. It gave him hope that his Michael was still in there, simply lost and hurting. Zack silently retrieved his rope and hook and crept to where Michael lay sleeping.

With tears stinging the backs of his eyes, Zack reached out and stroked hair silvered by starlight. He leaned in to wake Michael with a tender kiss, blood thundering in his ears as those soft lips moved under his, responding with familiar warmth and passion.

"I love you, Michael. More than I can ever say," he whispered against Michael's skin, so cold in his stone bed. "Please come home. Please. I can't make it without you."

Michael's eyes flew open on a gasp. He sat up slowly, wrapping his arms around Zack's neck, and lunged in to lock their lips together again, his kisses hungry to the point of desperation. For a brief, bright moment, Zack was certain love alone would be enough. Love conquers all, and by all the ancients, I love him so much it hurts.

The moment shattered when Michael broke their kiss with a soft, arctic laugh. "My darling, my own, you came to me after all. Nice of you to save me the trouble of hunting you down. But we can't go home, not to that ridiculous little house in the human world. This will be our home, Zagreus. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can get on with our lives."

Zack swallowed hard, muscles tensing for the fight he knew was coming. "You loved that house. We've been happy there."

"I was in transition, don't you see?" Michael ran his fingers through Zack's hair, suddenly tightening them in a painful grip. "I know it's a lot to take in. I know. Shh. It's better this way, though. You won't have to be my keeper any more. You won't have to pity me and coddle me."

"I never pitied you. Never."

Michael chuckled. "I don't think you realized you did. It's all right. Now you'll be the consort of a god." He surged forward, pinning Zack against the stones, grinding his hardening cock against Zack's thigh. "Mine. To kneel at my feet and adore me."

"No! Damn it, Michael! Get off!"

Zack yanked a leg free and flipped them, wrestling for position, for enough leverage to secure Michael's hands. They rolled and slid on the wall's broad top, precariously close to the edge several times. Michael slammed a knee up into Zack's groin, but he twisted at the last moment, saving the most vulnerable bits. The blow still hurt like hell, and he roared, adrenaline singing through him as he trapped first one, and then the other of Michael's wrists behind his back.

Chest to chest, they panted in each other's faces, snarling. The impasse lasted only a moment. Michael's grin blossomed suddenly as his wings snapped out behind him. "Oh, my darling, you will learn."

Those huge wings beat downward once, and they both lurched into the air, Zack's legs dangling and throwing off Michael's balance. They dipped in stomach-dropping plunges, and rose again by slow degrees as Michael's wings beat skyward, over the top of the wall, above the highest oaks. Zack clung tight, though gravity worked against him now, making it impossible to keep Michael's arms behind his back. With a sinew-creaking wrench, Michael freed one arm and pulled it out of Zack's reach.

"Michael, don't. You don't want to do this." Zack managed to keep his voice soft, though anger climbed up his throat with his fear. They soared above the treetops now, the wall a child's building block construction far below.

Slowly, with a terrible strength Michael had never possessed even as an angel, he pried Zack's fingers off his wrist and held him suspended by a grip on his right forearm. "I do love you. You know that. But we can't be together again until you know your place."

"Michael! Don't!" Zack made the mistake of looking down. Holy mother of us all.

"Come back to me when you're ready to kneel." Michael smiled, blew him a kiss, and let go.

Falling a short distance is oddly more terrifying than a long one. Over a short distance, the body only has time for that terrible oh, shit moment of the drop before the sickening jolt of contact with the ground. Over a longer distance, without physical references, the sensation of freefall takes hold, an illusion of standing still while the wind rushes past.

Zack had time to watch Michael recede against the stars, farther and farther out of reach, as if he watched his lover flying away down a dark passage. Michael hadn't moved from where he hovered, of course, and the illusion soon shattered as Zack crashed through the treetops, his momentum too precipitous for the trees to catch him. Head, back, and limbs all smashed into branch after branch, through the canopy, harder and harder into the larger branches and finally through the scraping, skin-tearing fingers of the understory.

He lay on his back as the stars above faded, his vision darkening as agony wrapped him in its cruel embrace, crueler still since he knew he had failed.

Chapter Six

"Hey. Zackie."

The voice wasn't Michael's, new or old. Something thumped against the sole of his foot.

"Hey."

Zack cracked an eye open. Oh, crap. My head hurts. Everything hurts. My eyelashes hurt, for fuck's sake. He lay on something soft, morning light filtering through the leaves. Someone stood near his feet, and he had to squint to make sense of who it was.

"Artie?"

"Yeah, it's me." Artemis leaned on her silver bow, silver eyes regarding him with what might have been concern. "Starting to think I'd have to get some help out here for you. Nice landing."

"Thanks. How bad?"

She helped him sit up and gave him water from her own flask. "Could be worse. Broken ankle. Broken ribs. Two. Your brain's probably all banged up but that shouldn't slow you down much."

"Great," Zack managed in a dry rasp. "You saw me fall?"

"Was just coming back from the Taiga Forest. Heard a scream. Saw something big and clumsy crash through the trees. Figured the bears hadn't learned to fly, so it was probably you."

"Ha. Funny. Thanks, though, for coming to check."

"Yeah. About that." Artemis settled beside him. "Want to tell me why the wingless flight, and why some damn fallen angel's made a mess of our forest?"

"The damn fallen angel's Michael."

"Not a time for jokes, Zackie."

"Wish it was."

She flipped her single black braid over her shoulder and stared at him, maybe checking for practical joke twitches. "Okay, so spill. From the start."

Because it was Artemis with her calm, no-nonsense demeanor, he was able to get through the whole narrative without choking on his words or breaking down. Anyone watching them would think she wasn't listening, as she stared off into the woods, twirling a dried leaf in her fingers. But she drank in every word, asking soft questions when he had finished.

Finally, she patted his arm. "You're an idiot."

"I know."

"Love isn't always the answer, no matter what the songs say."

He shifted uncomfortably. "But it should be. It should be enough."

"But it isn't, and sometimes it makes things worse. Makes you blind to things you should see. Makes you deny things you know are true. Sometimes when you have a responsibility, you have to get around love and still keep going. It's hard. It hurts." She shrugged. "But it's not always the most important thing."

"What's more important than love?"

She smacked his shoulder. "Keeping your promises. Keeping the things safe that it's your duty to keep safe."

"Yeah. Not doing great on those, either."

"You promised to keep him safe, too. You still have to keep that promise."

Zack winced at the thought of all the Olympians descending on Arcadia to put things right. Despite Michael's new power, he'd end up a smear on the forest floor. "I know."

She chewed on the leaf stem, obviously lost in thought. "You have to rest up a couple of days, anyway. But start thinking, Zackie. Shake the cobwebs off your brain. Think like a hunter."

"Right."

"I'll check on you every few hours, but I have to see what's happening." She rose in one fluid motion, then cocked her head at him. "Maybe think about his first change. How it happened. What happened. I don't know. There has to be something."

"And if there isn't?"

"I'll take care of it if you can't." Her frown said she didn't like that option, but that she would do what she had to.

Zack lay on his bed of moss, staring at the leaves. He had to resolve this before Artemis or any of the family decided to step in. Michael wouldn't survive if they did.

* * * * *

Two days later, Zack met a small, worried contingent in the parking lot of White Clay Creek State Park. While he could walk in and out of Arcadia at any green spot he wished, this was the most convenient for everyone involved. While he recuperated, he'd sent messages back and forth with Artemis, asking the family to gather what he needed.

While he healed quickly in the human world and even faster in his own domain, he still limped. His ribs were still a misery, but he was out of time. Artemis reported ziggurats rising up inside the walls, and she was becoming edgier by the hour, her fingers twitching on her silver bow. Zack couldn't delay any longer.

"But I could help," Dionysus insisted again, as he settled the pack frame on Zack's shoulders. "You know I'm good with the wilderness shit."

"I know. Thanks. I can't… ask anyone to be there for this." Zack pulled his youngest cousin into an awkward one-armed hug. "I got this, Dio. Promise."

Only younger gods were present, Hermes, Dionysus, and Artemis, Zack's favorite cousins whom he could trust not to run to the older gods unless the situation was hopeless, and trust not to interfere if he asked them not to.

Hermes shoulder-bumped Dionysus. "Besides, you'd forget you were supposed to be in stealth mode five minutes in."

"Would not!" Dio was outraged for a third of a second. "Okay, yeah, probably."

Artemis tapped Zack on the forehead. "Think, all right? No more rushing in."

"I got it. Love you guys, but you're a pain in the ass sometimes." Zack gave them a final wave as he limped off into the trees to make the transition back to Arcadia. While they had all wanted to help and Hermes had even offered to lend his winged shoes, Zack needed to do this his way, with the methods and tools in his comfort zone.

Dusk was gathering in Arcadia as he limped toward the ever-growing city bisecting its heart. Zack settled in a thicket within sight of the walls but hidden from above by a thick canopy of blackberry brambles. Here he waited and rested. First light was the best time to catch Michael unaware. He never had been a morning person.

With false dawn shading the sky leaden pewter, one of the nightjars confirmed by dropping an acorn that Michael still slept soundly atop his new ziggurat. He had, according to Artemis, built his first two towers by flying granite blocks in from hell-only-knew-where and assembling them with blinding speed. Clearly, Michael's new wings were more than just wings…

This was the thought that had brought Zack up short a day and a half ago. He mulled through Michael's original fall, all that had occurred, the horror of that moment when the angels had descended on him with blazing swords. Horrible as it was, the solution had presented itself.

Zack just hoped he would be able to do it. The thought alone made him ill.

This was Michael's last chance, though. What he wished and what he must do were about to collide like two runaway Eurostar trains. With a lead ball threatening to drag his heart down to the Underworld, Zack hobbled out of his hiding place and set up his net cannon. It wasn't a precise instrument, but the net opened up to cover a wide area and he had a lot of experience aiming the thing. He whispered a mantra to forgiveness, knowing he might never know its blessing, and loosened his long knife in its sheath.

Dawn began to paint the sky in long veins of red. "Michael, I'm sorry. I wish… I wish I could have done something to stop this sooner."

He dropped to one knee behind the cannon and bellowed, "Michael! Yo, Michael! Time to get up!"

His voice echoed crazily off the walls of New Uruk, ricocheting back at him like shrapnel. For a moment, he wondered if he'd misjudged, if the new Michael might be too wary and suspicious. But no, within two minutes the beating of huge wings floated down to him, Michael's sleep-tousled hair silhouetted against the sky.

"Zack?" he called down, his voice sleepy and uncertain.

That befuddled morning voice nearly made Zack hesitate a moment too long. He just wanted to take Michael into his arms, huge black wings and all. The moment shattered when Michael's cold, sharp laugh drifted down to him.

"Trying again, love? You really sh—"

With a prayer sent up to the laws of physics, Zack fired the cannon, the net whistling up through the morning mist and spreading out as it flew. If he misjudged the distance, if Michael reacted in time and simply flew higher, he would have lost his first chance. He had other contingency plans, though, rather more horrible ones.

With the first piece of luck to come Zack's way in weeks, Michael turned his head toward the sound and was only able to jerk sideways as the net hit him, tangling in his right wing. Chirping and cawing gathered behind Zack in the trees. The birds were flocking in to watch, perhaps cheering him on or simply curious about the outcome.

"Really, Zagreus? This is the best you could come up with?" Michael tsked in annoyance, struggling to keep aloft as he twisted to grab hold of the net.

Unlike the birds, Zack hadn't simply been watching, though. He pulled back his bow of black yew, held the string at his ear while he aimed, and let fly. Michael shrieked as the arrow flew at him, but with his wing fouled, he was unable to maneuver properly. The shriek turned into a bark of laughter when Zack's arrow only pierced the net.

"I'm so sorry, darling! I think that fall ruined your aim!"

Jaw set in grim determination, Zack wrapped the rope tied to his arrow around his forearm and began to pull, dragging Michael out of the sky. Michael cursed but went back to the task of methodically freeing his wing. If he succeeded before Zack could ground him, Zack had laid out other arrows to use, barbed tipped, hemlock laced, thick-shafted arrows designed to pierce bone if necessary.

Great mother, don't make me use them. Michael, please, please…

Still thirty feet in the air, Michael shot him a triumphant grin, his wing nearly free of the net. Zack's heart plunged into his feet. This would be the end of both of them.

Just as he reached for his next arrow, a tremendous chattering went up behind him. The air buffeted him as hundreds of birds took flight at once—jackdaws, crows, grackles, starlings, ravens—a sea of black converging on Michael with single-minded intent. Zack froze, bow half-drawn as the birds swarmed Michael's wings, fouling them with their sheer numbers, weighing him down under their collective greater mass.

Michael twisted and contorted in mid-air, trying to swat the birds away, but there were too many, always more to take the place of any one dislodged. Shrieking, Michael plummeted to the ground outside the wall, the birds lifting from him in a giant cloud the moment before impact. Still stunned, Zack flung his bow aside and rushed forward to flip Michael onto his stomach before he could draw a full breath.

He jammed his left knee against the middle of Michael's back, his right foot stomping down on Michael's wrist to keep him down. Cursing, battering at him with his wings, Michael writhed under him. Zack knew he didn't have long before he lost the advantage.

"You'll never forgive me, so I won't ask," Zack whispered. "But for fuck's sake, I wish I didn't have to do this."

He pulled his knife and took hold of Michael's left wing, trying to keep it from his face so he could see. Wings, legs, free arm all striving to break free, Zack wasn't sure he could do this without a misplaced knife stroke. Suddenly, Michael screamed in rage and his struggles lessened.

"Do it, Zack!" Artemis yelled at him while she held Michael's legs down.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Helping you, you jerk! Do it!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of both Dionysus and Hermes nearby, as well, though Dio faced away from them, staring into the trees, and Hermes simply stood there with an unhappy frown.

"Zack!"

Back teeth clenched hard, Zack lifted the knife and stabbed it down into Michael's back, right at the joining of wing and bone. Michael's screams bled over from fury to anguish as the serrated edge carved into him. Trying to keep his heart locked away in a terrible cold place, Zack sawed at the wing joint, ignoring the awful sounds of metal against bone. The wing snapped in an ugly, split fracture like a tree branch under too much stress, but Zack kept at his sawing, tears filling his eyes as Michael's cries faded and his struggles ceased.

"He's passed out," Artemis told him softly, but Zack didn't lift his head from his grisly work.

"Thank fuck."

He dug out the stub of bone from below Michael's shoulder blade, carving into his back to work it free. Flinging the broken, wilted wing away from him, he twisted to begin on the second one. He reasoned that he had to get all of it, like a tumor, if Michael was to have a chance.

When he finished, he fell back on his ass, sobbing, hands covered in blood and gore. Gentle hands pulled him back out of the way, and now he understood why Hermes had come as his cousin began packing Michael's gaping wounds, pulling energy from the life around him to lend to the broken angel sprawled in the dirt.

Strange, tuneless humming came from behind Zack, and he turned to see Dio with his head flung back, eyes closed, singing an unearthly, dual-toned aria, as the plants crept around his feet—ivy and flowered vines reaching around them—moving inexorably toward the wall.

Zack wiped his hands on his jeans, though he was certain a gallon of bleach wouldn't clean off the blood. He walked on his knees to Michael's head and lay down so their foreheads touched. "I'm so sorry. That was so fucking awful. I'm not even going to say it was for your own good, 'cause right now? I don't even know. I'm here, though. I'm here. No matter what."

"I don't think he can hear you," Hermes said gently.

"Don't care. Not even a little." Zack stroked Michael's blood-flecked hair, watching his corpse-pale face for any movement. Not even an eyelid twitch.

The vines reached the wall and began to climb in slow increments, working hairy root tendrils in between stones, crawling ever upward as if storming a fortress in slow motion. The wall would crumble. The fledgling city would be left a strange ruin in the heart of Arcadia, an eerie reminder of what happened to ill-advised invasions of another god's domain.

Hermes took heavy gauze from his messenger bag and Zack helped to lift Michael so he could bandage the bleeding wounds tightly. "That'll do for now. Are you staying here with him?"

"No." Zack shook his head. "No, I don't think it would do him much good." He slid his arms under Michael, cradling him close to his chest. "Let's get him back to Dad's, get him in a warm bed."

Hades asked no questions when Zack and his cousins trooped back into the condo later that morning. He took one look at Michael and led the way to the spare bedroom, bringing extra blankets and water while he shooed the cousins out.

"Shower," he said pointedly when Zack wanted to crawl into bed next to Michael. "I'll watch over him."

With a nod, Zack moved to obey, unable to meet his father's eyes. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"We'll do all we can, Zagreus. You're not alone."

The family had made that abundantly clear that day. But some burdens he still would have to carry alone. "Thanks, Dad. I… I'm glad you were all here."

He couldn't get the water hot enough in the shower, trying to scald away the stain of Michael's blood. It looked like it washed off, but he could still feel it on his skin. He probably always would. When he got back to the bedroom, he was surprised to find his father perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Michael's hair.

"Did he wake up?" Zack whispered.

"Briefly."

"Did he… say anything?"

Hades heaved a slow breath. "I'm not certain he was truly awake. He said he couldn't move his legs."

Zack sat down hard on the bed, shaking. "What did I do? Dad…"

"Hush. We can only wait. Time, Zagreus. He needs time."

* * * * *

"You're certain he's ready to travel?" Hades stood with his arms crossed over his chest in a belligerent stance that bellowed how much he didn't agree.

"Maybe. Probably not." Zack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I just think he'd be more comfortable at home."

"Let Charon drive you, then."

"It's all right, Dad. Really. Just a couple of hours. We'll be okay."

"Has he said anything to you yet?" Ti called over from the kitchen where he'd insisted on packing them lunch.

"No."

Michael had said nothing since the first time he'd woken two weeks before to say he couldn't move his legs. The family had reacted with typical outraged drama to the whole incident. Both of Zack's uncles and his least favorite cousin, Ares, were all for hunting Mammetun down and making her pay. Hades didn't often play the big brother card, but this time he did, insisting that they leave Mammetun in peace. Her slow fading was more than punishment enough. Every family member who had a stake in the healing arts wanted to help with Michael, too—Apollo, Auntie Hestia, Athena—but Zack wouldn't let anyone in to see Michael besides Hermes. His shame over what he'd done weighed on him so heavily, it felt like a mountain had decided to perch on his head.

"Zack…" Ti put the cooler by the door. "You're not really in great shape yourself. We'd all feel better if someone, at least, went with you."

An automatic, irritated denial was on Zack's tongue before he stopped himself and tried to regroup. If he didn't sound reasonable, no way in hell were they letting him go. "Thanks, Ti. Look, everyone's been wonderful and I'm really grateful. I know it hasn't always seemed like it."

Charon patted his shoulder on his way by to add to the growing pile of supplies by the door. "You've been pretty horrid, but we forgive you."

Zack successfully fought the eye roll that wanted to follow that. "But I think it'll be better for him. Just the two of us. A place he knows, where he felt peaceful."

"Zagreus," his father growled. "You have a phone. Use it."

He took that as permission to go without further fuss. Sometimes Dad was obtuse about what other people felt, but sometimes he got Zack faster than anyone else did. He left them with the task of loading up the Jeep, certain there would be several items (like the cooler) among the groceries and supplies that he would be expected to return. Not something he could worry about.

The blinds were drawn in the guest room, Michael propped up against his pile of pillows. He did turn his head and blink at Zack. No smile, no word of greeting, but Zack saw it as progress. His heart had broken a little more each day since he'd taken Michael's second pair of wings, until now… Now he wasn't sure there was enough left to put back together. Left with a smear of heart, could you really still love someone? Or was it a sense of duty that he told himself was love?

It didn't matter. He had destroyed Michael, completely, utterly. With his own blood-drenched hands, he had ripped the light out of his eyes. Some nights, Zack still woke up screaming.

In theory, it had been the only way. When the angels came to banish Michael from heaven, they ripped out his glorious, shining wings. Zack had reasoned that the brushfire, transient power of the fallen came from their second set of wings. Fallen angels who gained human followers sometimes became godlike, their lives extended indefinitely. Of course, the angels' instruments had been better suited to the task, and though Michael had suffered horribly, he hadn't fed the ground with three-quarters of his blood when he lost his first wings.

Zack had removed his second wings by sheer, brutish force. This was obviously not the recommended method. No one could tell him what happened after a fallen angel's second wings were removed. Maybe no one had ever done it before, but the forcible ripping away of that much power had caused devastating psychic and physical trauma, almost as if Michael's spine and brain had been injured in a high-speed collision.

"All set to go. We're going home." Zack wrapped the blankets around Michael and lifted him, his body achingly light. The wheelchair was already packed. It should have been harder to carry him to the elevator and down to the parking garage, but Zack wasn't even breathing hard by the time they reached the Jeep.

"Love you," Zack murmured against Michael's forehead as he settled him into the passenger seat and buckled him in. He didn't need a response, but he still needed to say it.

Numerous hugs and promises later, they were on the road home. Zack took the back roads Michael liked best, though he regretted it when Michael's breath caught and he gripped the armrest on the passenger side as they passed a particular bit of marsh. Zack wasn't certain how Michael recognized it, but from the timing and the crossroad they had passed, he was certain Michael had changed at that spot.

The panic in Michael's eyes was the closest sign of emotion since his second fall and Zack's heart smear broke just a little more. He reached over and squeezed Michael's free hand, the one not holding the door in a death grip. Michael didn't respond but he didn't pull away either. Maybe that was good.

The house… Had they really only been gone a month? Everything looked the same. Oh, the grass was a little shaggy out front, but Zack had hired a service to cut it once in the interim. Someone watched as he pulled into the drive and got Michael's wheelchair out. He didn't care. Let the neighbors stare and wonder. Most of the houses were farther up the street anyway, only their house and Mrs. Pendleton's at the end by the creek. He moved Michael gently from car to wheelchair and then into the house, all his hopes dying when there was still no reaction.

At least I can take care of you here, in peace.

He debated putting Michael right to bed, but that didn't seem healthy. He'd already spent three weeks curled up under the covers. Instead, he left the wheelchair in the kitchen, facing Michael toward the window so he could see all of their suncatcher friends.

"I think they missed you." He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Norbert probably most of all."

Again, he received no response, but he could be patient. He had to be, now. After he had brought everything in from the car and had put the groceries away, he had a better idea. With a lot of grunting and a little swearing, Zack carried Michael, wheelchair and all, down the back steps and into the yard to set him down by his butterfly garden.

Have to put a ramp in there. Especially if Michael starts trying to get around by himself.

There it was again, that little niggle of optimism that refused to go away. He wished it would. At least the weather was beautiful and Michael's flowers were in full bloom, busy with bees and yellow sulphur moths. The chime of the doorbell reached him in the yard and he tamped down on exasperation. Maybe he wouldn't open it…

It rang again, and a third time. "All right, all right…" Zack clomped back through the house and yanked the door open. At first, he saw no one until a throat cleared and he looked down at Mrs. Pendleton, their only next-door neighbor. Tiny, white-haired, and carrying a casserole dish that had to be half her body weight, she smiled up at him.

"Hello, there! I saw you come home and wondered if you could use some dinner." She peered around him, trying to see into the house. "Is Michael all right?"

No, he's not, you nosy old biddy… Zack closed his eyes on a slow, indrawn breath. Mrs. Pendleton was just trying to help. If he'd managed not to alienate most of the family through all this, he could deal with a nice old lady.

"Come on in. Michael's out back right now, enjoying the sunshine." Zack took the casserole with a murmured "Thank you," and led her back into the kitchen.

"Is he sick?" Mrs. Pendleton asked in a hushed voice. "Does he have that AIDS thing?"

"No, ma'am." Zack put the casserole on the counter and fussed with making coffee. There. He could be hospitable, too. "We… went upstate to have a couple of… growths removed from his back."

"Oh, dear. Do the doctors think they got it all?"

Zack had to stop for another slow breath. Who the hell knows? "We hope so. But the… the operation…There's, I guess, neurological damage. He can't walk yet. Doesn't always…" ever "track what's going on around him."

"You poor boys." Mrs. Pendleton patted his arm. "Give it time. My Harold, rest his soul, regained most of the use of his legs after his first stroke. Let me know if you end up needing a walker or anything to help with mobility. I still have everything in the garage."

"Oh… thank you." Zack had to turn away for a moment, all the sun and the dust in the house apparently irritating his eyes. She was kind enough to let him collect himself without comment, and they chatted a few minutes more about the weather before she said her goodbyes.

Just a quick peek outside to see if Michael's all right… oh, fuck.

Zack dashed outside to where Michael lay sprawled on the grass, his wheelchair having rolled out of reach. With a little cry of dismay, he took the back steps in one jump and flung himself down beside Michael.

"You okay? Did you fall? Were you trying to get up?"

Michael, propped up on one hand, his useless legs bent at the knees, wasn't sitting stock-still, though. His left hand trembled like a caterpillar-laced leaf in the wind, but he reached and tugged methodically at the little shoots of chickweed cropping up between his marigolds.

"Michael?" Zack stared, afraid to move and break the spell. Michael was weeding.

"The lupines are coming up."

"The… what did you say?" Zack's heart cracked just a hair more to hear that beloved voice again.

"The lupines," Michael pointed a shaking hand toward the back of the bed. "Wasn't sure they would."

There it was. The final crack. Zack's heart finally lay in nothing but shattered pieces in the grass. "Michael? Do you know me?"

After three weeks of blank stares, Michael finally looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes, free of red, free of malice. "I know you. I… do. Could you help? This is hard for me."

With tears streaming down his face, Zack helped Michael into a more comfortable position, letting him lean back against Zack's side. He kept having to wipe his eyes on his T-shirt sleeve, but it didn't matter.

Love wasn't the answer to everything. That was a hard lesson to learn. But it was more than enough for sitting in the sun, pulling weeds. It was more than enough to start the seeds of two new, stronger hearts growing again beside the butterfly garden.

The End

About Angel Martinez

While Angel Martinez is the erotic fiction pen name of a writer of several genres, she writes both kinds of gay romance – Science Fiction and Fantasy. Currently living part time in the hectic sprawl of northern Delaware, (and full time inside the author's head) Angel has one husband, one son, two cats, a changing variety of other furred and scaled companions, a love of all things beautiful and a terrible addiction to the consumption of both knowledge and chocolate.

For more information on Angel's work, please visit:

Official Website:

Erotic Fiction for the Hungry Mind

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/Angel.Martinez.author

Goodreads:

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1010469.Angel_Martinez

Email:

ravenesperanza@yahoo.com

Also by Angel Martinez

Available from Mischief Corner Books

Vassily the Beautiful

Hearts & Flowers: A Tale About Hay Fever and Bad Decor

Prisoner 374215

No Enemy But Time

Brimstone: Demon Owned & Operated (Omnibus)

Mischief Corner Anthologies*

"A Matter of Faces" in Cabin For Two: An Anthology

"Hell for the Company: Brimstone 1" in The Horns and Halos Collection

"Fear of Frogs: Brimstone 2" in the Hot Off the Range anthology

"Shax's War: Brimstone 3" in the Not in the Stars anthology

*Also available as single titles

Available from Dreamspinner Press

Gravitational Attraction

Available from MLR Press

Variant Configurations

Rarely Pure & Never Simple: Variant Configurations 1

The Endangered Fae Series

Finn: Endangered Fae 1

Diego: Endangered Fae 2

Semper Fae: Endangered Fae 3

Available from Amber Allure

Sub Zero

Boots

Wild Rose, Silent Snow

Canines, Crosshairs and Corpses

A Different Breed

Fortune's Sharp Adversity

No Princesses Need Apply

Available from Totally Bound

The Line

About Mischief Corner Books

Mischief Corner Books is an organization of superheroes… no, it's a platinum-album techno-fusion group… no, hold on a sec here…

Ah yes. Mischief Corner Books is a diverse group of authors who met on a mountain in Tennessee and decided since they were probably too easily distracted to rule the world that they'd settle for causing a bit of mayhem instead.

In addition to making mayhem, we publish books with a diverse range of genres and topics... we live to break molds.

MCB. Giving voice to LGBTQ fiction.

Website:

http://mischiefcornerbooks.weebly.com