CHAPTER THIRTY

A Starry Night Infiltration, Part 2

“Styx!” Sam cursed.

He couldn’t believe he’d missed that all-important shot. It was the Banshee and the hammer all over again.

“Styx!” Sam repeated while the launcher reeled the rope and its hook back into his bracer.

He was falling faster now as his own forward momentum had slowed.

This seems the perfect example of lesson number thirty-three, kid — aim! the master screamed into his ear. Try again, and hurry, or you’re about to find out if Regeneration can save you from a ninety-foot drop!

Sam raised his left hand forward this time. “Come on, come on…”

As gravity’s hold had tightened even more on him, the Met’s rooftop pathways were no longer in his line of sight. There was only one thing he could aim for now. It was one of the goddess' faces that lined the ornamental gutters at the top of the easternmost set of columns found on the Met’s Fifth Avenue entrance.

Sam took a deep breath. “Come on!”

By some stroke of luck or godly intervention, the hook embedded itself deep into the stonework. And with the line secure, the mechanism inside the launcher on Sam’s bracer pulled him forward. This turned his fall into a downward swing that resulted in him crashing shoulder first into a column on the main building’s right side facade.

Way to stick the landing, kid, the master said, and Sam heard him sigh in relief.

The impact forced the air out of Sam’s lungs, and it was all he could do not to cry out in pain. The loud thud that accompanied his crash had been enough of a racket.

Flashlights flickered to life below him as the police officers were stirred from their vigil by the commotion above them. Luckily, the grappling hook continued to pull Sam up toward the top of the pillars. So by the time the cops pointed their flashlights up at the wall, he was already hidden in a niche along the ceremonial gutters.

Oh, look, the master whispered, you hit this goddess right between the eyes…

“Do you know who it is?” Sam asked.

As the side of his face was pressed to the stonework, Sam couldn’t tell which goddess’ face he’d just scarred, and that made his brow furrow. The gods didn’t take well to the vandalism of their monuments, he knew. And there were many stories of how they cursed unremorseful offenders with afflictions like blindness or measles or something far worse.

It looks like Athena, the master answered. Yes, it’s probably her considering what kind of building we’re in. She’s always loved arts and crafts.

“You don’t sound sure,” Sam sighed.

He vowed to give an offering to the temples of all the female gods of the Greek pantheon as soon as he was able. That might appease whoever this goddess was.

“So please don’t curse me,” Sam prayed in an undertone.

Sam waited for his shoulder to stop hurting and the police to go back to their spot by the entrance before he climbed over the gutters and scaled up to the roof. Up here, the chilly night air felt like nothing more than a cool breeze thanks to his new suit.

“This thing’s definitely quality gear,” Sam said as he glanced down at the small sickle moon logo embedded on his left shoulder pad. “Hope I don’t chafe in my privates though…”

TMI, kid, the master replied. TMI…

Sam made his way from the roof of the Met’s Great Hall toward the leftmost building where he’d seen the giant hole.

“Hephaestus’ flaming beard…” Sam brushed his fingers against the mangled steel framework that looked like something huge had burst out from inside the gallery below, “No way this was an accident…”

“We’ll know soon enough, won’t we,” the master replied. “Now, get down there and find us some evidence.”

With the help of his grappling hook, Sam dropped to the atrium below with little difficulty. He turned on the flashlight strapped to his old utility belt next, and what he saw around him caused his eyes to widen into the size of drachmas.

“Whoa… this place was—”

—blown to kingdom come? the master supplied.

It was an apt description. Apart from the police equipment—the excavation tools and lights scattered around the gallery—Sam could only see devastation around him.

Part of the ceiling had caved in and closed off the entrance on the left. Chunks of blackened pillars were strewn all over what little remained of the marble floors, which were already cracked beyond repair.

“Yeah, no way the Delphic Chronicle survived this,” Sam frowned.

He had hoped that a blessed artifact like the Chronicle might have survived a fire of this magnitude as such relics were known to possess the protection of the gods, but it was a failed hope.

“Nothing could have survived—”

The light from Sam’s flashlight bounced off a smooth bronze surface.

“No way…” Sam breathed. “Is that…”

He trained his light on the only piece of artwork that had survived the blaze, and unscathed too.

It was the bronze sculpture of a naked, muscular man wielding an intricately carved bronze bow that was aimed at an upward angle. The base was also bronze, and on it was carved an ancient Greek word [Ἡρακλῆς].

“Heracles,” Sam translated. “Holy Zeus…is this is the Bow of Heracles?”

The weapon used by the hero of heroes to slay the elder giants, the master muttered. It’s why he was known as the best among the best… he was my favorite drinking buddy too.

“You knew Hercules?” Sam asked, calling the legend by his more popular Roman moniker. “You’re really that old… seriously?”

How many times must I say it before you’ll believe me, kid?

“Seriously…” Sam repeated.

He honestly couldn’t believe someone with such an immense place in history was mentoring him now. And once more he wondered about the strange stroke of luck that had placed him in Thunder’s path that night. Or was it more than just luck?

“Why haven’t they moved this thing out of here?” Sam asked.

Probably because the investigation doesn’t want to move anything around yet, the master guessed. Either that or the god who owns that statue’s likeness doesn’t want it moved.

The thought of Hercules becoming a god after he’d died from the Blight while being pronounced the greatest of the demigod heroes of his era got Sam curious about that time period.

“What was it like, back in the old days?” Sam asked curiously.

It wasn’t like now where at least thirty percent of the global population is gifted… not as many heroes then either, despite how often the gods fooled around with mortals, the master revealed. Why Zeus alone sired more than half the known heroes of the Classical Age, and it’s probably his blood that’s spread out the most across the Earth, the old horn-dog.

There was an audible crack of thunder from above that caused the sky to brighten in such a way that Sam couldn’t help but glance up.

Sorry, sorry! the master called. Didn’t mean to sound belligerent… Then the master's disembodied voice added in an undertone, or did I…?

It had been a long time since Sam had felt a god react that way, not since his brief time at the temple of Apollo when he’d felt the sun god’s gaze on him as he received his gift.

We’ll discuss this another time, kid, the master said. Best get started on the investigation… before more gods decide to drop in.

However, before Sam could do any investigating, he heard the distinct sound of footsteps come from right behind him.

He reached down toward Cranium Smasher’s handle, but then a familiar low-pitched voice called, “What are you doing here?”

Sam turned and found himself face to face with Crow-Man.

“What am I doing here?” Sam repeated, sounding suspicious himself. “What are you doing here?”

The eyes behind the cowl narrowed slightly. The mouth was set in his usual scowl.

“I mean,” Sam raised his hands up as he figured this was the best way to avoid another fistfight with the martial arts expert,” I’m probably here for the same reason you are… I came to see if there was a connection between this fire and last night’s fire.”

“Then you’re late,” Crow-Man growled. “I’ve already swept the place for clues.”

Sam could believe that as Crow-Man was known to slip in and out of tight spaces with no one ever noticing him unless he wanted to be noticed.

“And, um, did you find anything?” Sam asked.

Crow-Man’s violet irises observed Sam some more before the hostility in them vanished. He tossed a small object into the air toward Sam.

Instinct made Sam’s hands reach out for the object, although warning bells were sounding in his brain.

“Styx,” Sam grimaced as the round object fell into his palms, “You have to stop throwing dangerous stuff at me!”

His gaze drifted down onto this object, noting the circular, black plastic casing and the heavy feel of it in his hands. There was a dead screen on its front surface. On its backside were some broken wiring and a long, thin metal screw Sam guessed had been attached to something dangerous.

“Is this what I think it is?” Sam asked.

Crow-Man drifted closer to him, his black feather cape sweeping the floor as he moved. “It’s a malfunctioning trigger mechanism… usually used to detonate—”

“—C-4,” Sam finished for him.

Crow-Man nodded.

C-4 was the same kind of explosive used to start last night’s fire. This couldn’t have been a coincidence; at least that’s what Sam now believed.

“Then the two incidents are connected,” he breathed.

“Most likely…although it’s not a hundred percent certainty,” Crow-Man frowned. “Did you catch the connection with Madam Fate, too?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure what that would mean… to want to get rid of two sources of prophecies…” Sam glanced around him, his eyes taking in the devastation one more time. “I was kind of hoping my hunch was just that… a hunch.”

“I’m not sure what it means yet either, but,” Crow-Man picked up the malfunctioning trigger from Sam’s hands, “we can just ask whoever’s doing this. They won’t be hard to track, seeing as how careless they are with their choice of tools.”

“Well, that’s rude, don’t you think?” asked a British-sounding, high-pitched voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar to Sam. “It’s not like I could buy these things at a Costco.”

The wild peel of laughter that followed caused both Sam and Crow-Man to turn their heads toward the entrance on the right side of the atrium, the one that led back to the Great Hall.

Half-hidden in shadow was a man in a maroon suit and colorful polka-dot tie. He was pale, paler than anyone Sam had ever seen before, and he was bald too. But it was his eyes that caused Sam’s eyebrows to rise. They were strikingly bright crimson.

“Oh, gods…” A chill ran up Sam’s spine as he recognized the man he’d save from last night’s fire. “It’s you…”