Blood of Hercules: Chapter 1

Alexis: Year 2090

“Who are you?” a female voice whispered in my ear.

I sat up with a start and blinked groggily.

My wrists throbbed with pain. They were scraped raw.

Grasses and pink summer flowers rustled, as a warm breeze blew through the emerald field I was napping in.

Rural Montana was a quiet, eerie place.

Located two hundred miles north of Helena’s city lights, the power grid barely sustained our run down trailer park.

The Titans had arrived in the year 2050, and the world had crumbled.

Kids at school called it apocalyptic core.

I called it hell.

No one knew where the human-esque immortal Titans with razor-sharp teeth, black veins, long claws, and superspeed came from, or why they tore humans apart for fun.

Their existence was unfortunate, if you wanted to live (I didn’t).

Father John said the Titans had appeared to “teach humans a lesson.” Since we did nothing but perish dramatically and gruesomely . . . strange lesson.

After all, it was the Spartans who had saved us.

“Can you hear me?” the unknown voice asked louder.

I whipped my head around and searched for the speaker, but there was nobody else in the field.

I groaned as the quick movement made my wrists throb worse.

Father and Mother were making their “special drink” in the bathtub again to deal with hunger—a combination of cleaning supplies, water, and moldy bread yeast—and their behavior had become increasingly erratic.

Case in point, last week I’d looked “wrongly” at Father, so he’d tied me up with a rough rope because I was a, “lazy, good for nothing, spoiled ten-year-old bitch.”

This morning, I’d gotten tired of being tethered like a dog and had hit my arms down against a rock while pulling until I’d gotten free.

Both wrists were definitely fractured.

At least you’ve escaped.

The good news: Father was so clueless he probably wouldn’t even remember that he’d tied me up.

The bad news: He needed fancy Spartan Federation medication—preferably death—but he couldn’t afford it.

Someone needed to take care of his mental health the cheap way—hit him over the head with a shovel (that was what they’d done to neighbor Paul: whacked him when he wasn’t looking).

“You can hear me, can’t you . . . what—are you?” the invisible voice said next to my ear, and I jolted with fear.

Great, I’m being haunted by a ghost.

I looked around warily.

Barbed-wire fence glinted off the distant tree line that surrounded the trailer park, and a tattered white flag hung off a branch displaying the crest of the House of Hades—a horrifying skeleton dog with burning crimson eyes.

It was a hellhound.

Below the flag a sign warned in bloodred letters, “Spartan Federation Militarized Protected Zone, Titans Beware.”

The Chthonic organization of killers—the Assembly of Death, and their symbols (creepy hellhound flags that no one asked for) were strung across the protected zones—they were a warning to Titans that even among monstrosities, there were Goliaths.

Everyone knew the twelve Spartan families who ruled the earth.

The eight Olympian Houses were the good guys, since their powers didn’t hurt other people. In contrast, the four Chthonic Houses were pure evil.

They were mass murderers with dark powers.

I shivered.

The age of gods and monsters sucks.

Breathing roughly through my teeth, I tried to focus on anything but the agony radiating up my forearms.

What would Emmy Noether and Carl Gauss do in this situation?

Sadly, I was not sure how my heroes—brilliant historical mathematicians—would act.

Sleep would be nice.

So would death.

For now, I’d settle for rereading the public library’s autobiography of Emmy Noether for the hundredth time. It was like a gentle hug.

At least, I assumed that was what an embrace would feel like.

I’d never been hugged.

Not yet.

Maybe never, considering I loathed being touched and people didn’t like me.

“You smell familiar,” the invisible voice whispered louder. “I wonder . . . what’s your name, kid?”

I sniffed my armpit. I’d used the cold garden hose this morning, so all I smelled was sun and grass. “I’m A-Alexis Hert,” I said tentatively. The raised scar on my sternum tingled, the one I’d had since I was a baby.

“You can understand me, human? You can speak to me?” The voice was louder, and I jumped. “I’m Nyx.”

“Uh—hi,” I said awkwardly.

There was a long pause.

“Why are your wrists bloody?” Nyx asked.

“My foster p-parents are trying to kill me,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“You’re a strange human.” Nyx’s voice sounded closer. “You speak of death—but you don’t smell of fear. There is something wrong with you.”

“There probably is,” I said.

Nyx hissed. “Your attitude is unsettling. I’ve met immortal Spartans who’ve feared death more than you do.”

“Are you a ghost?” I asked.

“No.”

“Liar.”

The sun was suddenly obstructed by a dark object—it hovered inches from my face.

Slit pupils were stark against neon purple, and a slippery forked tongue dragged across my cheek.

“I told you I was real,” Nyx hissed.

A . . . a . . . colossal black snake—as long as one of my legs, with twin fangs gleaming, razor-sharp, and purple eyes—hovered inches in the air in front of me.

She looked dangerous.

Predatory.

“What are you?” I whispered.

Her shiny black head swayed back and forth on the summer breeze like she was trying to hypnotize me. “I’m an echidna, an ancient race of invisible snakes. Of course, you wouldn’t know—humans know nothing of the ways of beasts.”

I swallowed thickly. “Are you venomous?”

Razor-sharp fangs flashed as the snake’s head nodded. “Extremely so. Just a graze from one of my fangs would kill you in seconds.”

“Wicked,” I said with awe. “Want to be friends?” I’d never had one.

Purple eyes glowed.

“Fine,” Nyx hissed, her jaw opening as she spoke, “but only because your life seems miserable, and I’ve been misplaced in this barbaric land with no one to speak to.”

“Cool.” I reached out and patted her shiny head.

Nyx snapped the air with a click. “Never touch me like that or I’ll bite you to death, girl—I’m not a common dog.” She sniffed haughtily. “This is only a temporary arrangement.”

I laughed.

She was funny.

Hours later, after I’d frolicked about with my new bestie and tried to ignore the pain in my wrists, the sun set in a fiery pink sky.

If I didn’t get back to the trailer before nightfall, I’d be locked out and forced to sleep in the dark.

I was determined to sleep inside tonight.

“Let’s go back together,” I whispered. Nyx turned invisible and slithered next to me. Her head brushed against my feet as I ran.

We made it back with light still in the sky—not that anyone noticed.

Mother and Father were sitting in the yard, emaciated and glassy-eyed as they sipped on dirty cups full of their “special drink.” Their pupils were blown wide, heads tipped back at an unnatural angle, as they stared up at the clouds.

Living corpses.

I hummed to soothe myself.

“They look—sick.” Nyx’s wet tongue slicked across my ear as she rose behind me and followed me into the trailer. “Do you want me to kill them?”

“No,” I whispered as I led her down the hall. “That’s wrong.”

The lamp on the wall flickered weakly with green light, the electricity humming as it struggled to power the decrepit trailer—a mix of metal and wood parts from a time before the Titans.

The singular fan that pointed at the foster parents’ bed did nothing to cool the rest of the space.

The muggy summer heat was oppressive.

Nyx clicked her fangs. “Fine—but someday, kid, I’ll kill them for you.”

I huffed. “You can’t. Killing is a sin. It’s morally the worst thing you can ever do. Your soul will be corrupted. Father John says so.”

“Father John sounds like a stupid idiot—you’re too young to know what you speak of,” Nyx said. “When you’re older, you’ll think differently.”

She was definitely going to hell for saying that.

Wait—didn’t Father John say snakes are evil . . . am I going to hell for befriending her?

Eternal damnation was surprisingly complicated.

I shook my head. “I will never kill someone,” I promised, chest burning with sincerity.

Nyx scoffed.

Gingerly, I settled into the cardboard box that functioned as my bed.

A piece of small white fabric lay at the bottom and an eight-letter label was engraved in gold across the front. It was the onesie I’d been wearing when the orphanage found me as a baby—the only possession in the world that was mine.

There was a weird gliding sensation as Nyx repositioned her heavy weight across my lap.

“Can you talk to all people?” I whispered.

“No, kid,” Nyx said softly, “it’s unusual that you can hear me. I can only talk to my own kind, and there aren’t a lot of us.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” I mumbled with sleepiness. “Now you can’t leave me because we can talk—I’ve always wanted a friend . . . just no killing . . . promise?”

“I don’t make asinine oaths. Enough chatter,” Nyx hissed. “We sleep.”

Only later would I realize my stutter had disappeared completely when I talked to her.

Beasts didn’t scare me.

People did.

That was how a thirty-pound invisible poisonous snake became my closest companion.

Yes, I befriended the first monster I’d ever met.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

I jolted awake a few hours later.

There was a loud thumping noise at the front of the trailer.

Mother and Father swore loudly as they staggered out of bed toward the obnoxious, repetitive sound.

I peeked out the corner of my box. Nyx mumbled against me and shifted but didn’t wake up.

A short elderly woman with pure white hair and shocking purple eyes stood at the door.

Her expression was grave.

A skinny figure in a hood stood hunched low beside her.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this?” Mother asked as she stared down at the intruder, much more sober than earlier. “We ain’t selling our drink at the front door—you’ll have to just wait till Monday and get it in the woods like everyone else in the park.”

Beside Mother, Father opened his mouth and slurred out illegible sounds.

“Thank you—a very generous offer,” the elderly woman said, her tone insinuating it was anything but.

She cleared her throat.

“I’m here because the United States Government, led by the Spartan Federation, has allotted you responsible for a second foster child. Monthly food vouchers will be sent accordingly to cover his expenses. His name is Charlie.”

I’ve never heard of foster kids being delivered to doors.

Before anyone could react, the elderly woman—with surprising strength—shoved Charlie up the steps into the trailer, then slammed the door shut.

Mother scoffed at the child. “They’ll be hearing from us. This is fucking ridiculous. We didn’t sign up for another one. We can’t even feed the other fucking thing.”

Nice, I’m an object now.

Father stumbled over to the ratty couch, collapsed on it, face forward, and snored.

Mother grabbed Charlie by the scrawny arm and dragged him toward my cardboard box. I closed my eyes tight and pretended to sleep.

“Boy, you can sleep next to . . . Alex—there’s enough room.”

From the long pause, she’d struggled to remember my name. Rude. I’d been living with her for almost ten years.

Mother stomped away loudly, broken springs creaked as she got into her bed.

I squinted through my lashes.

Charlie was kneeling in front of me.

I gasped.

His eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow that almost glowed in the dark.

Greasy blond hair hung around his pale pointy face and dark circles rimmed his sunken features.

“I’m A-Alexis,” I whispered cautiously, holding out my bruised hand. My aching wrist trembled as I waited to see what he would do.

Is he going to mock my stutter?

He stared at my hand but didn’t take it.

If his eyes weren’t open, I would have struggled to believe he was alive because he was so still.

I put my hand down and shifted so there was room in the cardboard box.

We were both small. We could fit.

Discreetly, I moved Nyx to my other side so he wouldn’t touch her.

“I’m ten,” I offered softly. “Are you—also ten?”

Charlie shook his head, then gingerly lowered himself into the space beside me. He still didn’t speak.

“Are you younger?” I asked.

He nodded as we sat next to each other in the dark.

“Nine?”

He nodded again.

“I guess you’re my younger brother now. Don’t worry, I’ll be a good sister,” I promised him quickly. “I know all about the foster parents. Just follow my lead and you’ll be okay. I’ll protect you.”

“You—don’t have to,” he whispered softly.

I nudged him with my elbow. “I know I don’t have to—but I want to. I’ll take care of you.”

His eyes got impossibly wide.

“What is it?” I asked with concern.

He shook his head like it was nothing, but a small smile curved his lips.

Warmth unfurled in my chest, and I grinned back.

I’d started the day with zero friends.

Now I had two.

Things were looking up.