“How courageous,” Silver sneered, approaching the box.
She took the note first, inspecting it closely, like it contained more than two words. I watched her pocket it, before flipping the lid of the wooden chest.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened to form a scream, but before any sound could come out, the creature within pounced, so fast I doubted its prey could even see it.
The giant snake went straight for the banker, jaw wide, fangs the size of a forearm bared. It was so large nothing but magic could have made it fit in the chest—at least twenty feet long, and as thick as Silver. She might be a fun-size person, but for an actual snake, that width was no joke.
My mind seemed to slow down as I watched both Lucian and Kleos move into action, the first gathering dark lethal energy all around him, the second, summoning a javelin of light, her stance moving to the perfect position to throw it right between the snake’s eyes. The poor thing wouldn’t stand a chance against either.
I learned two other things about myself just then.
Firstly, I rather liked snakes, even scary, murderous ones. I didn’t want it to die for simply doing his job. Apollo had placed him here as a guard for whatever he’d locked for his sister, and he was doing what he was told like a good hell serpent.
And secondly, I could apparently counter two immortals in less than the microsecond it took for such a fast beast to launch itself at a poor banker. The javelin, I deflected, Lucian, I blocked, before grasping the open-mouthed snake right behind the eyes, holding him tight enough to issue a warning.
“Forget your commands,” I demanded, my voice lower and deeper than it had been until now.
I could feel the ground shake under my feet as those words escaped me. Not in English; in the old tongue that had first come to me when I woke up yesterday.
The snake’s beady black eyes shone blue, reflecting mine.
“That’s it. Aren’t you a good little nope rope?”
“Little?” Kleos croaked.
I let go of my hold progressively, to check on the beast’s intent. He remained right here, at eye level, contentedly slithering.
The banker muttered something about livestock, sticking to the wall in order to put as much distance as possible between him and the reptile, but we all ignored him in order to watch Silver, who seemed positively fascinated by the contents of the box.
“I’m going to kill him,” she announced, matter-of-fact, while we joined her.
Inside, there were two items, equally confusing. A white quiver with intricate gold veining, full of shining arrows. The second was a small bronze statue of a sleeping pup.
Her hands went for the statue first, and the moment her fingertips touched the metal, it glimmered, all shine and yellow tint fading away. By the time she pulled it out, it was a live pup, and snow white. The puppy immediately proceeded to lick her face, tail wagging.
“He left you alone with a bloody snake for a week?” Silver cooed, baby-talking to the pup. “We’re going to shove one of these arrows up his bum the next time we see him, aren’t we?”
The pup barked its agreement.
“A dog,” Lucian said with a slight sneer. “Your divine brother goes through the trouble of setting up a bank account for you and leaves you a dog.”
Kleos chuckled. “Dogs have always loved Silver. They sniff her out for miles and jump at her. It can be scary.”
“That’s not a dog,” I felt obliged to point out.
Silver glared up at me—her default expression as soon as her eyes found mine. Currently it was infused with an extra degree of animosity.
“It’s a hellhound, from the line of Orthrus, not Cerberus. A two-headed dog, son of Echidna and Typhon, too. Hercules killed him, I believe—but not before he had a fair few hundred children. I thought they were all killed.”
“Killed?” Silver protectively wrapped her hands around the pup tighter.
I shrugged, putting my hands in my pockets, to emphasis on the fact that I didn’t feel like jumping on her puppy. “To be fair, he did father the Sphynx and a Nemean Lion. A bunch of monsters who were rather murderous.”
Kleos and Lucian stared at the puppy like they expected it to morph into a scorpion on the spot, or at the very least, sprout a second head.
“Why would Apollo give her that?” the redhead asked her husband.
I replied when he couldn’t. “To be fair, the prick is the god of prophecy. Presumably, I’d say he knows something we don’t.”
