CHAPTER THREE
“Shrinks sap your strength,” Sara complained to Abe. She was sitting in his cherry leather chair. “I know this already.”
“I never thought of that,” Abe admitted. He liked Sara. She was keenly observant and honest. What confused him was that these same qualities led her to another version of herself, the virgin priestess trying to summon the Oracle. “That can’t be good,” he added.
“Not good is right.” Sara picked at a scab on the back of her wrist. She wore a long black dress, a long-sleeved black jersey, her spiked collar, and a simple silver necklace with a black damascene silver stallion hanging from the chain. The bright red streaks in her hair were bold as flashing neon. “I mean you want me to explain everything.
“What should I do?”
“The Beast is rising. I need more power, not less. Help me with my power.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She spotted an old match, way under his desk, picked it up and tossed it in his big stone ashtray.
“Thanks,” Abe said, realizing that even when Sara was thinking, she was scanning, taking in every little thing.
“Tell me more about the Beast.”
“Why?” Sara looked right at him. “I mean…so far, when I try to tell you about the Beast—hard, scary things I’m sure on—you don’t get it, at all, which frustrates me, makes me feel even worse, and saps my strength. So what’s the point?”
Abe’s brow furrowed; he understood all too well how she felt and why she felt that way. “Yes, you’re right, I’m not getting it. But believe me, Sara, I’m trying—”
“And that’s what I mean. It’s not working. Trying isn’t the same as understanding.” She set the edge of her scab in his ashtray with her fingertips, slowing down, shifting gears. “Besides, it’s not safe here.”
Abe liked that she wasn’t giving up. He wondered how he could make it safe. “Where can you talk about it?”
“In my magic circle. No where else.”
“I think you could be safe here,” he suggested.
“That’s not right. This isn’t safe for me or for you. The Beast could crush you like a bug.”
Abe thought about this. “I’m not afraid of the Beast.”
“Hah,” she snorted. “Peirithous, the Lapith, he wasn’t afraid.” She leaned in, wound like a coil spring. “He invited the Centaurs to his wedding feast. They were wild beasts, half-horse, half-man. Since so many people came, the Centaurs were seated apart, in a cavern. They pushed away their sour milk, and filled their silver horns from the wine-skins. They were not used to wine. When Hippodameia, Peirithous’ bride came to greet them, Eurytion, the Centaur, leaped from his stool, knocked over the table, and dragged her away by the hair. The other Centaurs joined in, raping women and boys. Peirithous and his best friend, Theseus, had to rescue Hippodameia. They cut off Eurytion’s ears and nose. The bloody fight between the Centaurs and the Lapiths lasted into the night. And the great feud between them began. Peirithous should have been afraid.” She sat back. “And so should you, mister. Period,” she added.
Abe listened carefully, spellbound. “Who was Peirithous?” he eventually asked.
“Peirithous was king of the Lapiths. He was a brave king, but rash. He became Theseus’ good friend, his honorary twin.”
“Theseus, it seems, is a good friend to have.”
“Yes and no. Theseus’ friends often die.” She nodded, a fact.
“Go on,” was all he said.
“Theseus’ horseman, his charioteer, they say he was murdered on the Isthmus Road. Sciron forced him to wash his feet, then kicked him off a cliff, into the sea, where he was devoured by a monstrous green turtle. Later Theseus killed Sciron—he threw him from that same cliff, serving him as he served others.’”
Abe just nodded. She was so specific. In the world of the Beast, there were rules and harsh consequences. He made a decision. “Sara, I’d like to help you reach Theseus. I’d like to help you fight the Beast. Think about how I can help. I’ll follow your lead.”
“Mister, this isn’t like dancing.” She shook her head. “I guess our time is up, huh?” And frowning, she left.
***
Not so pretty now, are you? Minos was thinking, remembering how Snapper had looked when the drug took hold and caused him to fall and crack his head on the hardwood floor, out cold. Minos smiled, working on his plan for the Snapper, as he cruised Broadway.
He had a kernel, a sprouting seed, of a big idea. He could feel it, twisting and turning in the past, working its way into the present. He had to give it time to evolve, to grow into itself. He knew that if he didn’t go too fast, didn’t force it, his big idea would work itself out and present itself, fully formed, in his mind. If his instincts were right—and more and more, he had pretty good ones—he sensed that this idea could touch the past, the present and the future. He’d nurture his plan for the Snapper, let it breathe until it was ready to fly.
One more thing to do, so he turned west down Pine. Yeah. Something Snapper had said. A threat, this thing about how he was protecting his interests. That was kind of funny, because Snapper wasn’t ever very careful. His idea of protection was putting on a condom, afterwards. Yeah. Minos smiled at his private little joke. Still, Minos had to be sure. He’d check it out while he waited for his plan to crystalize. He’d start with the sweet-looking boy with the curly red hair. He wondered what Snapper had given him. Maybe it was nothing, one of his come-ons. Or maybe it was something, and Minos would have to go back to work. He knew where to find out.
Ten minutes later, Minos was across from the Blue City Café, waiting in a doorway. He took out a red and white pack of Marlboroughs. Smoking was a new game, and a good drag still gave him a little hit, without fogging his mind. He even had a lighter that worked in the wind. Minos lit up, watching and thinking. If the redheaded sweetie wasn’t already in the café, he’d be there sooner or later. Teenagers were like geese or salmon, always going back to the same place.
***
The Blue City Cafe was west of Broadway, between Pike and Pine. Over the years, the cafe had taken over the entire first floor of an old Victorian house. The main floor walls were now exposed fir posts. The downstairs had become an oversized, laid-back living room, with small groupings of sofas, tables and chairs. In one corner there was a kitchen with a tall glass counter where customers could order from an eclectic menu. In a U shaped group of couches, set against the back wall, Billy, Amy, Randy and Alex were deep in conversation, sipping their lattes. Randy and Amy were seniors. Billy and Alex were juniors at Olympic, and had been classmates since Billy transferred, almost two years ago.
Amy rested her hand on Billy’s thigh as they sat, side by side, on the couch. She wore jeans and a loose brown wool sweater that couldn’t hide her fine figure. Short black hair framed an intense, expressive face. Her touch was gentle, and it made him feel good about himself.
“You have to admit,” Randy was saying, “Sara’s alright. I mean doing that Greek Oracle shit at school. That was tight. I bet Dean ‘be-your-own-self’’ Sentor freaked out.” He rose, circling the couches with his iPhone, taking pictures. Like a restless child, Randy was always on the move.
“I heard she carved a magic circle in the bathroom floor,” Amy added. “Probably made Sentor’s eye start twitching.” With her free hand, Amy ran her fingers through her short black hair. Her lips were full and her eyes were almost as dark as her hair. When she was listening carefully to someone, Amy pursed her lips and squinted ever so slightly, until her expression was almost feline. To Billy, everything about her was sexy.
They