Read Legacy of Olympus (In the Gods' Secret Service) Online
Authors: Teri Gilbert
Tags: #Romance, #ebook
Legacy of Olympus (In the Gods' Secret Service) (12 page)
The Village Gate Mall, a former warehouse on Goodman, fit the kind of place that would appeal to Stephanos and his crowd. The unique shops didn’t pander to today’s trendy stores, and Alec had to admit, the place suited him as well.
He had no trouble locating Grecian Antiquities on the second floor, next to the Bop Shop, a popular local music store specializing in collectible vinyl records.
Two ornate plaster columns stood on either side of the faux marble entrance to Grecian Antiquities. Faint strains of string instruments accompanied by a light-hearted flute issued from somewhere inside the specialty shop.
A short, rotund man wearing a white toga burst from the back room. The sheet-like robe fastened over one shoulder, revealing an obscene amount of curly chest and arm hair; not exactly the kind of uniform that inspired trust. As the man hustled around the front counter, Alec had the fleeting hope the man wore underwear. “Zorba?” Stephanos had provided the contact’s name, but little else.
“Like my father before me and his before him.” The man clasped his pudgy hands together. “At your service.”
“Stephanos sent me.”
Was it his imagination or did Zorba’s face light with excitement? “Are you one of his men?”
He was no one’s man and intended to stay that way. “I’m new.”
“Yes, yes. He must think you have the gift.” Zorba struck a dramatic pose. “Can you guess my ancestor?”
Alec didn’t want to insult the stout man, but suspected Zorba’s forefather must have had something to do with food or ale. Which god was that?
“I’ll give you a hint.” He rubbed his stomach.
Alec shook his head. “Sorry.”
A smile split Zorba’s broad face. “No matter. You don’t know the ancestors yet, but you soon will.” He dropped his pose. “So, what are you in the market for?” Circling, Zorba seemed to be examining him from every angle. “No. Wait. Let me guess.”
He opened his mouth.
“Don’t say a word. I’ll only be a minute.” The man disappeared into the back, then emerged with a large, dual-edged axe. He offered the antique to him.
Alec hefted the weapon. Damn, the thing was beautiful, but heavy, its handle made of solid mahogany, the blade of fine steel, an intricate design etched along the center of the blade.
“A fine weapon, to be sure, but—”
“Not a descendent of Ares.” Zorba frowned and took the axe back. “Let’s see.” He dropped the axe to the floor with a dull thud, then leaned the handle against the wall.
“I’m looking for a bow and arrow.”
The man’s face fell.
Alec felt a stab of guilt at having put an end to Zorba’s game. Chances were he didn’t get many customers coming into such a unique shop. A thought struck him. “Are all your customers descendants?”
Zorba shrugged. “I get some people who are curious about the culture. A couple teachers who buy books and small replicas for use in the classroom. That pays the rent. As for the weapons, uh, wall decorations, they’re strictly reserved for the descendants.”
Alec clamped his mouth shut to keep it from falling open. He’d stepped out of his normal life as meteorologist Alec Andrews into a world he didn’t recognize as his own. How could such a sub-culture exist without becoming public?
“You’ll need to come with me.” Zorba gestured toward the back of the dimly lit shop.
He hesitated. What if this were a trap?
Zorba laughed. “No need to be afraid here. If Stephanos sent you for a bow and arrow, you’re far more powerful than I.”
Alec followed Zorba down a dark corridor, half expecting someone to jump out at him. He surveyed the weaponry lining the corridor, feeling like he’d stepped back in time. Gorgeous gold and silver blades of all sorts and sizes adorned the concrete walls, seeming to beckon him to try them out.
They stopped about midway down where Zorba picked a bow out of a glass-topped display case mounted on the wall. “Let’s start with this one.” He held out the nearly five-foot wooden piece.
He hadn’t handled a bow and arrow since high school phys. ed., where his first attempt had landed his arrow in the ceiling of the gymnasium.
Zorba seemed to be studying him carefully. “Hand-made by a master bowyer. Crafted out of yew wood. One of the best.”
Alec had to admit the piece
was
beautiful, with minute hand-carved pictures along the handle. “Nice. Got arrows?”
The pudgy little man plucked some wooden arrows with five-inch feathers from the same case and handed them to him.
Alec placed the end of the arrow into the nock and drew back on the string.
“No. No.” Zorba sounded panicked. “Don’t try it
here
. Come with me.”
Eleni’s heart beat faster. Mallaki leaned against her bedroom door, barring her entrance. The remainder of breakfast had been uneventful, and she wanted to make sure the rest of the day went the same.
Mallaki raised his brows and gave a charming smile. “Maybe I could stay with you tonight?”
She looked down to hide her contempt, but could feel his gaze on her. Perhaps he’d take her response for shyness. “Why don’t we wait and get to know each other better?” Her voice didn’t shake, but her hands did.
“Perhaps tomorrow?” It was both a promise and a threat.
She nodded. By tomorrow, fate willing, she’d be out of there.
As Mallaki strode stiff-shouldered down the hall, Eleni let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. While Mallaki was occupied with his company, she’d have to find a computer with Internet access. And she couldn’t get caught. A shudder rippled through her at the thought of what Mallaki would do if he discovered her trying to communicate with anyone from Amalgamated.
He’d kill her.
She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Would anyone care?
She had no family left, and her true friends had all been at Amalgamated that fateful day. But Stephanos was alive. He’d be upset if she died, but maybe in the way a platoon leader would mourn the loss of a soldier. The mission would continue. A fist closed around her heart. Would Alec miss her?
She tossed her head back and squared her shoulders. She intended to find out. She wouldn’t die. She’d do whatever it took to survive and get Stephanos the information he needed.
Feeling safer with the bow and arrow in hand, Alec continued down the hallway behind Zorba. He tried to picture the Village Gate from the outside. They had to be somewhere deep in the belly of the building.
“Here.” Zorba indicated a room to the left.
Gripping the bow and arrow, Alec entered, unable to see much of anything with only the dim light from the hall.
“This hasn’t been used in a long time.” Zorba hit the wall switch, illuminating a long, narrow room with several bull’s-eyes ranging from the smallest to the largest on the opposite end, about forty feet away.
“Go ahead.” Zorba indicated the targets with a wave of his hand. “See how that set works for you.”
Alec held the bow out in front of him, placed the arrow on the ledge and under the nock, pulled back the taut cord, then let it fly. The cord sprang back and caught him on the arm, leaving a bright red welt.
Zorba laughed. “Try again. Don’t rotate your elbow inward. Picture the tip embedding itself deep within your target.”
Alec did as he said, feeling a slight tug across the muscles in his upper arm and chest. This time the arrow struck the outer edge of the target, but the target nonetheless.
Zorba wasn’t satisfied. “Doesn’t feel like it was made for you, then?”
Alec shook his head.
“That won’t do.” Zorba snatched the bow and arrow from his hands, then stepped back and studied him.
Alec shifted from one foot to the other.
“Sorry. Trying to get your proportions and energy reading. You should have something that fits you perfectly. I’ll be back in a minute.”
True to his word, Zorba returned shortly with a cloth sack. He knelt, unzipped the worn bag, and almost reverently removed a slightly shorter, much plainer wooden bow. “Made from Osage Orange by the same master bowyer.”
Alec accepted the bow and ran a thumb down the polished surface. There were no carvings on this one. Instead, an ancient coin with a profile of a helmeted man had been set into the base of the wood. As his pad crossed the cool metal, he immediately felt something similar to a buzz from a low electrical current.
A wide smile spread across Zorba’s face. “This one’s it, isn’t it?”
Alec hesitated. Why should he prefer one to the other? There was no logical explanation. He was far from an expert in archery. But yes, he did feel something, an unseen power emanating from the bow, joining with him in some indefinable way. “There’s something about the feel...”
Zorba went back into the cloth sack and held out a half dozen arrows. “Wooden ones won’t do for this bow. These arrows are made of carbon, the best. But if they splinter, the shards are quite nasty and should be removed immediately. The combined speed, using this bow and these arrows”–-Zorba’s eyes darted up and to the left–-“I figure two hundred plus feet per second.”
Alec let out a low whistle and studied the arrows. Each had narrow multicolored bands along the side, orange, red, yellow.
“The bowyer named this set Sun God’s Pride.”
Alec’s chest constricted, and his throat tightened. He would be worthy of the name. He fitted the arrow into the nock, lifted the bow into position, and felt energy start pulsing through him.
This was right. This was made for him. He drew the bow, thought of the target, and relaxed his fingers. No dull thud, no loud twang. Just the soft whirr of the arrow slicing the air. He could have been blindfolded and known the shot was destined for the bull’s-eye.
Zorba clapped enthusiastically and held out another arrow. “Do it again. Do it again.”
Alec followed his directive, using all the remaining arrows. Each time, the tip embedded itself in the center of the bull’s-eye. He felt so alive, like every neuron inside of him sparked at once. He turned to Zorba, the corners of his lips tugging upward. “I’ll take it.”
“Somehow I thought you would.” Zorba paused, his gaze somber and assessing. “I see you also have talent that doesn’t meet the eye.” Zorba indicated his arm, which had been bright red after his first attempt, but was now as smooth and unmarred as when he’d walked in the door. “The enemy isn’t going to take kindly to a healer.”
Later that day, Eleni edged open the door of her suite, expecting Zander to be standing sentry, but there was no one in sight.
Dressed in a simple white pants suit and tan sandals she’d found in the closet, she headed down the hall in the opposite direction she’d already been. She cringed at the brush of her sandals on the marble flooring. How could she avoid detection when every little sound reflected off the smooth polished surfaces?
Still, there was no sign of anyone as she made her way down the corridor. Most of the doors were locked, but one opened inward, revealing shelves of books. Where there was a library, there might be computers.
Drawn by the possibility of making outside contact, she entered and was immediately struck by the sheer beauty of the room. Books were housed in mahogany and life-size Greek statues surrounded leafy green plants and rich white leather chairs. In the center of the room, a water fountain provided soothing background noise, while picture windows lining the back walls allowed panoramic views of the ocean and sky.
