“They’ll be arriving soon,” Gareth announced, bulldozing his way to the front of the room and trying to get everyone’s attention.
The conference room in theInstitute of Life Science, a branch of the British government’s Defence Science & Technology laboratories, was filled with scientists, psychologists and security personnel recruited for the project. TheElysian Liaison Initiative, E.L.I., would officially begin after two long years of discussions and laying down the groundwork.
During our initial orientation, Gareth had kindly shared with us just how the project had come into existence. He was on the wrong side of fifty and the whispers had made him worry that his mind — the brilliant brain that was once sharp and had elevated him to his position in the government — had finally succumbed to the pressure and snapped. He’d been a hair’s breadth away from calling the doctor when the whisper developed into a roar that saw him on his knees in prayer. Concertinaed on the floor of the temple, he’d received all the instructions. The Gods needed work to be done, and Gareth would be their vessel until they saw fit to descend from Elysia and walk among the mortals they watched over.
“You’ll be given your assignments,” Gareth continued, voice rising above the din as he reached the front of the room.
The chatter died away as attention fell on the bulky manila folders he cradled in his arms.
He’d held off until the morning of the arrival to allocate teams to minimise the time he’d need to soothe bruised egos. Entitlement always reared its ugly head when decisions were taken out of people’s hands. We’d already bore witness to a few terse email exchanges.
Gareth had, instead, observed us all for months, making notes as he compiled teams of people who would work together cohesively with the given test subject.
Test subject. It was easier to think of them that way. It allowed me to maintain that this was a serious job rather than an elaborate hoax.
“Please familiarise yourself with your allotted God or Goddess and we can begin work,” he told us.
I knew little about Gareth, aside from the fact that he was deeply religious and a man of few words. He didn’t invite people to turn to him if they had a problem with the assignments.
Gareth had specifically headhunted every single person in the room. He’d travelled to all corners of the globe to recruit some of the best minds, which was the first reason I’d been hesitant to agree when he set his offer on my table.
As a fresh PhD graduate, I’d been his last pick. It was his riskiest appointment, but my research as a developmental biologist had been published in international journals and spoken about in high regard. Gareth believed that, teamed with other young blood he’d brought on board, we’d help to drive the project in ways he might not have thought of.
Outside in the corridor, visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that made up the walls of the conference room, a parade of people marched past. Security personnel in their dark suits made their way along the hallway, but they weren’t what caught my eye.
Breathtakingly beautiful men and women stood between mortals, their wrists cuffed in copper. Gods with ethereal beauty that caused a deep and undeniable ache in the chest of anyone who laid eyes on them, including myself, walked by, with poise and class. Strands of glossy hair perfectly in place with every long stride, crisp suits, and flowing dresses painted on like a second skin. Sharp jawlines and cheekbones that made each face worthy of catwalks and front covers of magazines. Every hair on my arms raised at the power they all emanated. Each of the twelve otherworldly beings looked no older than thirty years of age, but they carried centuries.
At the back of the pack fell an anomaly. A God, with jet black hair and dark stubble lining his jaw, fought against the restraints as he bellowed, “Hunter! I never agreed to this! I will pull this place apart! Wait until I am out of these cuffs!”
The glass walls of the room trembled with the force of his temper. He swung his head towards the conference room and piercing blue eyes landed on me as I caught full sight of the fury they held. My blood turned to ice in my veins and a crushing pressure constricted my lungs until I lost the ability to breathe. The eye contact lasted for a split second before they pulled the God past the room, colourfully violent threats still being issued.
The vacuum that surrounded me popped as noise erupted in the space and I took in a deep breath, grounding myself again. Eleven of the twelve appeared cooperative. Statistically, it was natural to have an outlier. One that threw off a clean set of results. An anomaly never made things worthless in my eyes but made it more interesting.
“Scott,” Gareth called, interrupting my mental workflow on probability.
Walking towards me, he held out a manila folder. It was crisp and clean and contained very little, judging by the thickness of it. That would change soon. Gareth held it out to me, and I took it from his hands.
“I’ve assigned you to Grayson,” he informed me.
I flipped open the folder to see a fact sheet staring back at me. The most striking piece of information provided was names. They had names like mortals. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but the mundanity of it caught me off guard.
“I need my best people on him,” Gareth said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I narrowed my eyes at him. At twenty-seven, I was the youngest person in the room. My doctorate was awarded two years ago, and I’d originally taken up a postdoctoral role at St Andrews when the government correspondence began. My time in academia had taught me to be wary of sugared words. There was no guarantee that good intentions hid behind them.
“Thanks, Gareth,” I said, despite my reservations about his compliments. My parents had taught me to always be polite, even if I had no desire to be. “Any tips?”
The older man let out a sigh and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “He’s less inclined than the rest of them as you could see by his display.”
Gareth rolled his eyes as he spoke, safely knowing that his disrespect went unwitnessed by the deities he worshipped.
Adrenaline flushed through my system at the confirmation that I’d be working with the walking terror, and my mouth grew numb. I pressed my tongue against the roof to regain some feeling. No wonder they’d never disclosed their names. It was easier to keep people in awe if they prayed to the God of chaos rather than trying to call in a favour from Grayson.
“Doesn’t understand the need for integration even for a short period,” Gareth continued, blissfully unaware of my anxiety. “It’s a shame, considering this whole venture was Hunter’s idea.”
“That was one hell of a tantrum,” I muttered, eyes cast down on the page.
“Be careful around him, Scott,” Gareth advised me. “Around all of them.”
