Day I Met Him

by Candace

I've never been so terrified in my whole entire life. I don't show it, usually. At least if I can help it. But at this point it doesn't matter. Because I called on Hermes to do a little favor for me, he said no, and here I am bleeding to death.

What a way to go.

I know I'm not quite dead yet, because my life hasn't flashed before my eyes. Just that one little part, the moment when I decided it would be a good idea to steal Hermes' sandals. That part just won't leave me alone. 'Cos if I hadn't done that, Hermes probably wouldn't have just flipped me the bird and left me for dead.

I knew I should've never let that pathetic excuse for a side-kick talk me into stealing those sandals. No wonder I work alone.

Of course I've tried to get myself out. But it's a little hard to pry open a bear trap when it's so slick with your own blood that you can't even get a grip on it.

I grope around in the gore-covered treasure upon which I'm sprawled, searching for something, anything, that'll pry the trap off me. Maybe this candlestick'll give me a little leverage. Well, then. How about that? Just my luck. Solid gold. Soft as the top of a newborn's skull.

I can't believe I dodged about a dozen tripwires, three hidden pits and a really clever bladed pendulum, only to get caught in the bear trap. I can even see the prize I've come for from here: the veil of Hestia. It's over there on that pedestal, just taunting me. What, you can't hear it? Okay, I'll translate. It's going, "You're gonna di-ie, you're gonna di-ie."

Y'know, if Hermes is gonna act like that, fine. Just fine. I don't want to worship a god with no sense of humor. I mean, heck, I've been tithing ten percent to Hermes ever since I stole my first bran muffin, but fine. Sure. Be that way. Over a pair of stupid sandals.

Maybe I am dying after all. I feel a little giddy.

A flash of blue-green light and I'm not alone anymore. A god stares down at me with his hands on his hips and an exaggerated frown on his face like he's assessing the quality of a cow at the state fair. He looks a little too much like Strife for my taste, but blond, really blond, and kinda fringey.

"Any particular reason Hermes parked his star pupil in the dunce corner?" he asks.

Bleeding to death, I want to add. But I figure that's pretty obvious and he just wants to bait me to the verge of consciousness and then force me into some unpleasant arrangement. Because that's how things always work, isn't it?

I make a counteroffer. "How 'bout you fix up my leg and we can chat about it?" Hard to sound casual, me not knowing what his story is and all, but at least he's not imminent death. The bear trap will be in about five more minutes, give or take.

He shows me a finger-no, not the one Hermes showed me-just his index finger in a "hold on" kinda gesture. Then he leans over me and takes a big, deep whiff.

Maybe I don't wanna know.

He steps back, scooping air toward his nose and smacking his lips. "You give pretty good fear, I'll grant you that."

And maybe I should tell him to stick it where the sun don't shine. I'm dying anyway, aren't I? But, no, there are worse things than dying. Like being kept alive and being tortured by an imbalanced god, for instance.

He smiles when I think that. And not like he's having his portrait painted, either.

"Okay, look," I ask him. "What's it gonna take for me to convince you to get me out of this thing?"

His smile gets bigger. His forehead's so squinched up it's threatening to swallow his hairline, and his front teeth stick out. "Weeell.... Let's see. I can use someone on my team with a brain in his head."

Right. Team member equals survival. I do my best to look brainy.

He cocks his head to one side and rests it on his fingertip, cradling that elbow in his other palm. "And I'll bet you have skills, too."

"Many skills." At least, I think I say that. Because my vision suddenly tunnels and this roaring sound engulfs everything else.

Time passes, I guess. I come to and he's the first thing I see, working at one of his fingernails with his teeth. Bite, spit. Bite, bite, wrinkle nose, spit.

Oh, and I'm in a vaguely familiar bed. Looks like the last inn I stayed at, except they seem to have replaced the towels I took as a souvenir. I risk a glance down at my feet. Judging by the pair of lumps beneath the sheet, I appear to have two of them. Things are looking up.

The god does a little start when he sees I'm awake. "Are you always such a smartass while the Fates are busy cutting your thread?"

"I try."

His eyebrows shake hands over the bridge of his nose while his eyes bug out at me. "You almost died."

"But I didn't. Thanks to you." I figure it's best to credit him now. Maybe my undying thanks will be accepted in lieu of ninety-nine years of indentured servitude. To a god whose name and domain I don't even know. "You must be the god of-er-wounds, or something. Am I right?"

His face settles into a pleased smirk. It's a little eerie, how it never seems to hold still. "I'm Deimos. The God of Terror."

No fluffy-bunny godhood, but then I hadn't really expected one judging by the outfit. I don't know him from Adam, but I figure that's the last thing he wants to hear. "Oh. Oh-that god! You don't say."

He nods vigorously.

"Really? Why, I didn't think you'd be so...young."

He sighs and arranges the fringes hanging off one of his leather sleeves. "I get that a lot, you know. Because of my cutting-edge fashion sense."

"I...see."

"So tell me, now that you're not bleeding and everything, what did you do to piss Hermes off?"

Should I lie? Or would he crack open my mind and read the truth there anyway? He did seem to know the last place I'd slept, after all. "I borrowed something from him and he got all bent out of shape."

"Borrowed," he said, chafing his palms together. "That's rich."

Well, I thought so.

"Here's the deal, Auto." So, he knows my name. He enunciates it too much for my liking, then adds a little lick at the end like he just tasted it. "There's something I want. And I'm not allowed to take it, or else it won't work. And I can't tell you to give it to me, because then it won't work either. So I need you to figure out what I want, and then give it to me willingly."

Okay, there's an image that's not fit for mixed company. Heh.

"You're mine until then. And afterwards-" he shrugs. "Go, stay, it's up to you."

I peel my eyes away from the fit of his leather suit for a moment and try to focus on the negotiations at hand. A single task in exchange for my life, not a bad deal. I've got to figure out what that task is, but I'm up to the challenge. After all, I am the King of Thieves.

I ponder this new alliance, once he's gone and I'm alone. One god leaves and another one steps in to fill his stinky winged sandals. I guess that's not so terribly unusual.

But this is the thing. Compared to Hermes, this Deimos guy is a major stud. Yeah, he pulls too many faces for my taste and I could do without the fringe, but he's got this bod on him. Even stunned from the fresh healing of my half-severed leg, I couldn't help but notice the muscles flexing in his calves, and the way his chest filled out that leather, and-especially-the way his belt rode atop a mighty fine caboose.

He just left me here at the inn. No special treatment, really. I might've thought a god would give a new recruit a good meal, a change of clothes, or maybe even a neat little purse of dinars.

I've snuck out on my bill once already so it won't be any big deal to do it again. But still, I wonder if I should feel insulted or flattered. I stare up at the ceiling and run through my assignment. Figure out what he wants. Then give it to 'im.

Sorry. I still can't help but smirk when I say that last part.

Hermes just never inspired this kind of risqu ambition in me, so it's a novel feeling. The foot massage? Don't even go there. I just did it to get at those stinking sandals. And if I'da known I'd end up chained naked to Iolaus on account of...no, it's not like that either. I'm mad at that little blond twerp, remember? It's his fault Hermes left me to die, after all.

But enough about Hermes and Iolaus. I'm far more interesting.

Understandably, I'm mighty curious about my poor leg. If Deimos didn't even leave me a dinar to tip the chambermaid, what's the state of my person? I peel back the covers, wincing in anticipation. But it's just my leather breeches that seem to have gotten the short end of the stick. They're torn away about a handspan below the knee in great, jagged hacks. And I'm missing my right boot.

But the leg's fine.

I sit up, expecting the room to swim around a little from the blood loss. But no, it's fine. I'm just a little wobbly from all the excitement.

Sheesh. Couldn't he have at least magicked me up a boot?

It's not the most convenient thing in the world, but I manage to extricate myself from the inn and liberate some new boots and nice pair of leather pants. You need to replace stuff like that periodically, I remind myself. Keeps the fit nice and snug. For when you want to seduce a god.

Whoa, whoa. He's got me thinking about the fit of my pants, now? Get ahold of yourself, Auto. He's a god, and you're...the King of Thieves. Well, you never know. It could happen.

And why not? It's not like he's too macho to give it a whirl. The way he holds his elbows against his waist when he talks; the way he wiggles his fingers all the time like he's sprinkling fairy dust. Gay? Heck, he fell out of a gay tree and hit every branch on the way down.

Take a deep breath. Okay. Yeah, the new pants are definitely snug.

Now I know I said I was mad at him, and I am, but Curly's got a nose for news. And if anyone can help me figure out what Deimos wanted, it'll be him. I cruise into Corinth in my snug new pants and try to figure out the best way to milk him.

See, I don't have any illusions that Deimos is on the good side of Good and Gooder. I mean, come on. The God of Terror? I just hope he doesn't snack on babies or anything, 'cos then I'll really have to finagle some changes out of him before we can do the nasty.

Crap. I'm setting up house already.

I find the Perfect Pair roosting under Iphicles' roof, otherwise known as the Palace of Corinth. And I'm about as welcome there as a flea circus at a dog show. But maybe that's a good thing. Because if Iolaus knew I wanted information about Deimos, he'd be sure not to give it to me. So I need to be crafty.

He "finds" me in the gardens, some stuffy arrangement of shrubs and tiles that's entirely too conservative for my taste. I'm looking really interested in the palace wall. You'd be amazed at how nervous that'll make people.

"A-Autolycus?" Did I mention his talent at stating the obvious?

"Well," I say, backing up a little so he'll think I feel sheepish about something. "If it isn't Hercules' right hand man."

"What're you doing here?"

I draw my words out slow, like I don't already have a really shady excuse cooked up. "Why...I'm...taking up...tuckpointing!"

He crosses his arms and taps his foot. "C'mon. Gimme a break."

I shrug. Can't let him have it too easy. He'll get suspicious.

"You know I won't let you just nose around the palace without shadowing your every step."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, I'd keep up with you," he says, giving me that look. You know, the 'I used to be a thief' look. He never lets me forget that.

"I wouldn't bet on it," I say, letting him figure I'm overconfident. "It just so happens that at this thing coming up..."

"Tomorrow's ball?"

Unbelievable.

"...that an ambassador's wife from Sparta will be in the possession of the...Butt...er...Knife of Deimos."

Iolaus looks confused. "The what?"

"You heard me, shorty. The Butter Knife of Deimos. Don't try to act like you don't know what that is just so that you can keep all the action to yourself."

He begins an assortment of various sentences but then disregards them as soon as his mouth begins to form the first letter of each. "First of all, I don't make a habit of relieving ambassadors' wives of their property."

Right. Anymore.

"And second. The Butter Knife of-Deimos? That can't be anything good."

"Naturally," I say. I need for him to think I know something about Deimos, other than the shape of his posterior. "God of Terror, and all."

"He's not here, is he?"

But then again, maybe it's best for him to think I've never met the guy in the flesh. "Who?"

Iolaus rolls his eyes. So easy to exasperate. "Deimos!"

"How would I know?"

"Oh, you'd know if you saw him."

Oh, please, I say to myself. Please let him launch in to a tirade to impress his vast experience upon me.

"Total whacko," he goes on while I try to make sure my eyes aren't going, 'Yes!' But then he gets quiet, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"You act as if you know him personally," I prompt.

"Know him?" I can barely suppress my glee as he settles in for a long schpiel. "The guy tried to get me to work for him."

Work, right. I am not jealous. Not.

"And then he had all of these cursed Amazons digging up the fragments of the Kronos Stone, and once they'd done it, he ordered them to attack me."

"Obviously you survived."

"And then he attacked Herc by drawing power out of the Kronos Stone."

"Impossible. Hercules pried that stone out of my very hands and then ground it into gravel. How could Deimos have used it against him?"

Iolaus sits heavily on a stone garden bench, fretting. "I dunno. Herc said there were some chunks missing, but Deimos had pretty much gotten it back together."

I remind myself not to look interested, though how can I not? My palms are sweating, my mouth is dry, and now I have a raging hard-on from the thought of Deimos with the Kronos Stone glowing between his palms. I tell myself it can't be a good thing to hook up with a god who'd attacked Hercules. Really, though, can't the same thing be said for lots of gods? Take Apollo, for instance. He's taken a swing or two at Herc. And I don't think anyone would fault me for hitching my wagon to his.

Deimos, though. He's Terror. It probably wouldn't go over really well if my involvement with him were known.

But hey, I can keep a secret as well as anyone else.

I don't know if there was really an ambassador's wife from Sparta there or not. I was out of Corinth before Iolaus could run back to Herc blabbing the story about the butter knife. Because I knew there was no way for me to get the scoop on the Kronos Stone from Hercules. Even reverse psychology would've been useless. I mean, can you see me saying, "Nope, wait. I really don't wanna know about the reconstituted Kronos Stone, Hercola, so don't say another word about it." Heck, even he wouldn't fall for that one.

Typically, I'd drop in on the Oracle at Delphi and soften her up with a few compliments about...well...okay, so maybe I'd just comment on the weather. But she's still sore about a sun-shaped pendant that went missing a few months ago, and seeing as how she has those visions for real, I don't want to take any chances that she'll steer me the wrong way out of spite.

I imagine you've heard tell of the Singing Toad of Peraea, no? Stupid name, I agree, but supposedly if you can find it on a new moon it'll answer one question for you. The trick is in getting your light source to function in a bog. It's dark as a donut hole on the new moon, and it's wickedly slimy in the bog. So they say.

Seeing as how Peraea isn't too terribly far away and the moon's dwindled to a tiny sliver, I decide to go hunting for toad. Hey, if I don't find it, I can always visit the Oracle in disguise and hope her talents don't tell her it's me.

The walk to Peraea isn't too bad. I lay over by the side of the road wrapped in my cloak. Can't help but entertain a few fantasies about a certain blond deity, but apparently an encounter just isn't in the cards. Yet.

I reach the marketplace late. They're already packing up, and so I manage to talk the blacksmith down a couple of dinars for the waterproof lantern even as I pocket a few flasks of oil. It's dusk by the time I reach the northern bog, and even though the temperature's dropping, I hang my cloak on a tree limb to keep it out of the water. It's cold without it, but it'll do me more good later on if I keep it dry.

Now, I don't go schlumphing off into the water making all kinds of noise to scare the critters away-I was too crafty for that by the time I was about six. No, I ease around the water with my lantern shutters closed, sneaky. Calm. Quiet.

I find a level spot to park the lantern and pop the doors open, keeping my eyes peeled for telltale lumps. Their eyes stick out above the water, and if you're not paying attention, they just look like little bubbles breaking the surface.

I lunge before that slimy green sucker knows what hit 'im. "What is the current location of the Kronos Stone?" I demand. But the toad just hangs there. I ask him a few more times and then figure he's not the one. Phenomenally cold water fills my boots as I close my eyes and sigh, releasing toad number one. It's gonna be a long, wet night. And not in a good way.

Darken the lantern. Change locations. Shine the light. Splash. Grab. "Where is the Kronos Stone?"

Repeat.

And again.

And again.

And a few splashes that end up with rocks, or handfuls of wet leaves, or even a turtle that bites me on the thumb.

Splash. Grab. "Where is the Kronos Stone?"

"Last time I saw it, it was sailing away from Athens in a southeasterly direction."

Too bad I'm not in a toad-tossing contest. I've never seen a toad fly that far. Nice arc on it too.

No, the toad didn't talk. That voice came from in back of me, over my shoulder, directly behind my ear. Right, that voice. Deimos.

"If I'd known you were coming, I'da baked a cake," I say, trying not to look half as startled as I feel. His eyes are level with mine when I ease around to look at him, taking care to rotate in such a way that I actually keep as much non-distance between us as he's established. A dim slant of lantern light plays over his grinning face, and he looks different than I'd been imagining him, all those shadows and valleys making his features stark and mysterious.

"What in Hades are you doing?" he asks, but he's still smiling.

"Surely you've heard of the Singing Toad of Peraea?"

He looks all around, though where I only see blackness, he probably sees trees and rocks and slithery things waiting for me to grab them by accident. I realize how bone-chilling the water is now that I'm standing still, and I clench the muscles in my legs to try to keep shivers from working their way up my body.

Deimos' glance falls on me, finally, and his grin gets broader. I see the lamplight glinting off his front teeth. "I dunno which part is worse," he says.

I almost cross my arms, but that would put a barrier between us. I settle for a saucy hands-on-hips stance. "Go on."

He leans toward me, a very small motion, but we're standing so close that it makes my heart start thumping. "First, you actually believe that stupid legend."

Hey, it can't hurt to try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But I don't say anything, because he's really darn close to me now, and I can see shadows cast by his eyelashes on his cheek, and even in the near dark, his eyes are so intense. And I wonder if he's gonna kiss me, because he's so close to me now. In all the scenarios I dreamt up, kissing wasn't really part of it. Mostly groping, actually. But now kissing suddenly seems incredibly...feasible.

I think we've stood there a long time just eyelocked, and then he blinks and backs up a little. I feel a pang-an actual pang--but I make myself hold my ground and not go dragging after him like a tethered pack mule. "And second?" I ask, surprised I even have a voice.

His eye-goggle is so pronounced I can see it in almost-total blackness. "These are frogs, Auto. Not toads."

Thankfully, he disappears. Because I'm sure my cheeks are glowing, and I'd rather he not witness that.

It's two weeks on foot to Athens, which'll get me there around the full moon. Old wives' tale says you reap on the full moon what you sow on the new moon. I wonder if that's true for gods. 'Cos some deity I won't name sowed a great big urge in me for tongue dancing. And if I happen to make good with the Kronos Stone, I expect him to fill up my whole dance card.

Road to Athens passes through Megara, so it's time to stock up on food and dinars, and to spend the night in a nice bed. I'd typically find someone nice to share the bed with me too, but I've only got an eye for blond hair and fringe lately, so I'll probably skip that minor detail.

I take a detour through the Pig's Eye Inn, not to arrange a room, heavens no! But to round out my collection of smaller coin. The clientele is always so bombed that pickpocketing them is like finding hay in a haystack.

As luck has it, I find that clinking, clanking scion of gullibility having a drink at the bar, regaling the inebriated patronage with tales of his derring-do. And even the drunks don't believe him.

"And so I took the anaconda by the head-and pow! Pow! You never saw a snake fly so far without wings. You know. Like those winged serpents."

I slide up to the bar behind him, draping myself there like I've been leaning into it for an hour or more. "Are you sure that wasn't Xena who was doing the punching?" I ask.

Joxer upsets his drink as he turns to face me. Poor guy. Never did get that startle-impulse under control.

"Autolycus. Hey. Buy me a drink?"

"I believe the line is supposed to be 'Buy you a drink,' but since you're so pathetic, I'll let you get away with it just this once." I paw through the new collection of purses beneath my vest and choose one to fund my new fact-seeking mission. "So. Traveling with the ladies fair?"

He gets a little misty. "No. They went to see Xena's mom in Amphipolis."

Things are looking up! I've never once crossed paths with Xena without her asking some outrageous favor of me. And of course I always do it, because I'm a sucker that way.

I order the cheaper vinegar-er-wine for him, out of principle. "So. Whaddaya know about this latest scheme," hm, who to pin it on? "...that Sal's cooking up? Something about the Butter Knife of Deimos."

"Butter Knife? Deimos?" Joxer screws up his face really hard. Thinking. He takes a gulp of his "wine" and doesn't even wince. "I dunno. Maybe Falafel commissioned it?"

"An artifact like that," I say, throwing my bait out willy-nilly, "gotta have some interesting properties."

He shakes his head, blank. "Deimos. Only story I've heard about him is when he found the Rock of Arges and turned Hercules invisible."

Paydirt.

"Right. Invisible. That's gotta be, um, inconvenient."

"Well, it wasn't just that he was invisible. If Herc wasn't as strong as he is, and if he didn't break the curse, he would've eventually faded away into nothing."

Wine sours on my tongue, though I'll grant you that it doesn't take much with this particular wine. "Of course Herc would break the curse, though. He's a son of Zeus!"

"I heard he took Discord hostage and forced her to help him. Then he turned the curse on Ares!" He covers his mouth with his hand like he can't believe he said the name out loud. The hair on the back of my neck stands out while I wait for the God of War to come and pummel the Pig's Eye for a patron speaking his name out of turn.

"Back to the butter knife," I say, thinking I might rather not know if Deimos actually came close to offing Hercules. "Where do you suppose it would be? In Deimos' temple?"

"I don't think he's got a temple. He's one of those, y'know. Minor gods."

Right. Minor enough to reattach my leg. "A shrine, then?"

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, you could pile three rocks together and call them a shrine, so I guess it's possible."

At this point his whole attitude is beginning to piss me off. Minor. Three rocks. Where does he get off?

I knew there had to be some reason I'd been unscrewing one leg of his barstool the whole time we were talking.

This "pile three rocks together" comment really got me going. Sad to say that anything Joxer could've come up with would affect me like that, but it's true. Got me to thinking what, exactly, getting a shrine together would entail.

Just like most anything else. Bribes, and lots of 'em.

But since I'm curious about learning the process, I decide to grease all the upturned palms I encounter-often with said official's very own money. Not that I have any plans in particular, mind you. But just in case I decide that Deimos needs three rocks of his own in Megara. I don't want to talk to these trained monkeys more than once if I can help it.

I'd planned on a long, hot bath, a good meal and a soft bed before starting the next leg of my trip to Athens. But instead I find myself talking to the Zoning Clerk, the Keeper of Records and the king's secretary. I talk to a guy who owns an empty lot where a shed burned down a dozen years before. He's got gambling debts out the wazoo, so he'll sell cheap. And then I even find an architect who can do a really basic open-air four-column deal for the price of your average small town. But he's willing to start for the pair of rubies I happen to keep hidden in my beltbuckle.

It's long past midnight when I finally fall into my bed. I don't even notice if it's soft.

I have a dream that I tell the architect to engrave "What A Fine Ass" on the pediment. Boy. Horny much?

I wake up with my palms still tingling from having passed so much money through my fingers the day before. And as tired as I am, that's about all that's tingling. I have no idea how some people can do these kinds of bureaucratic things for a living. They suck the life right out of you.

Any more shrine nonsense will delay my quest for the Kronos Stone, and so I decide to leave for Athens at once. I dress quickly and slide out my window and down the drainpipe into a quiet alleyway. A vendor crosses the mouth of the alley a moment later, leading a swaybacked nag that's dragging his cart. And I decide that maybe I can spare the time to look at that square of dirt I bought from the gambler after all. I'll just need to steal a horse once I'm done to make up for my lost time.

The street's mostly empty except for a few women trudging to the common well with their kids in tow. It's a working-class neighborhood and the men are all at their jobs.

When I called the plot a square of dirt, I really wasn't kidding. At least the remains of the old building have been scavenged away long ago, so I've got a blank canvas to start with.

I squint and try to picture the shrine there, with four tall, white pillars at the cardinal points, everything symmetrical and clean. I'm having a hard time, what with the mangy dog looking at me like he can see my bones through my snug leather breeches. I squint a little harder. A cloud passes over the sun, and I try to imagine shadow playing over marble. Or did the architect say granite? Whatever.

"Granite, definitely granite."

I don't jump. Hooray, me.

He's right behind me, close as a body can be without touching. It feels like his air is brushing against my air. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

Ideally, I'd say something smart, but nothing pops into my mind except this foreign-feeling need for approval that I don't care to examine too closely. "So. What do you think?"

He exhales, and with that release of tension his body fits against mine like a puzzle piece snapping into place. I even shiver a little as I lean back into him, and his fringed arms wrap around me, clasping over my chest. "It's like unearthing a ruby that's rumored to be the size of an egg, only to find it's not. It's as big as my head."

Gem analogy. Almost cuts through the giddy flutters my stomach's doing over the thought of being clasped to him like that. But I'm so busy trying to feel him with my back that I can hardly think. All that leather between us isn't making it any easier.

So I guess I'll go ahead with the shrine. Since the god approves, and all. And there's the time investment I've already put forth; no sense in all of that effort going to waste. "Any particular saying on the pediment?"

He leans his face forward and I feel his nose settle behind my ear. "Not that your idea wasn't...pretty. But I was thinking of something more along the lines of, 'Master Thy Fear or Flee.'"

"Right," I say, though fear's about the last thing on my mind. "That's short. To the point. Catchy." And how'd he know about the "ass" sentiment? Spying on my dreams? For shame.

I feel him stiffen a little and he sighs. "I'd hoped we could get to know each other a little better, but Ares is calling me."

So let him wait. Of course I don't say that.

"But I brought you a little something. Let me at least give it to you."

Yeah, baby. Give it to me.

A little shove to my shoulder and he's got me spun around. His nose against mine stops the rotation and our eyeballs are practically rubbing together. Whatever he wanted to give me glints in my peripheral vision. And I doubt it's a ruby.

"You've heard of the Rock of Arges?" he asks me, and his chin brushes mine as he speaks.

I nod, and we tap foreheads.

"It's broken. But I saved a piece."

Before I can spin out a likely scenario, something very pointy presses into the top of the scar on my chin. Without even seeing it, I know it's a knife.

"I had Hephaestus set it in the pommel of a dagger," he goes on, and I can feel that cold, sharp tip tracing the contour of my scar with excruciating slowness. "As you might have guessed, the eye fragment gave the dagger a little extra oomph."

My scar blazes like ice as the dagger point wends its way to the bottom and then drops down to the hollow of my throat, simply resting there, gentle, like a snowflake.

His eyes sear through mine as well, and I'm going crosseyed trying to figure out how to see him. "The first time you...prick...someone with it, you'll vanish from their sight."

I'm trying really hard to process the story about the dagger, but it's all I can do to stop from lunging forward and impaling myself through the throat just to breathe my dying breath between his parted lips. I've really got to pull myself together.

He blinks, and I get a little reprieve from those eyes. I let go of the breath I've been holding, and his eyes wrinkle in the corners. I feel his lips smile.

Somehow my numb fingers manage to close over his fist and back the dagger away from my throat, and he allows it. "That's some dagger."

"Wish it could work more than just the once. But the Rock was broken. Makes the magic a little iffy."

"No, really, it's great. I love it." I let myself press into him a little. Is it appropriate to hug? He doesn't seem quite the hugging type.

His eyelids drop halfway down and he tilts his face, laying a wet lick across my mouth. I think my heart stops.

"Sorry," he breathes. "I really gotta go."

When my senses come back to normal, I find myself standing there alone in the middle of the dirt square with a dagger clasped against my chest. Even though the day's mild, a gentle breeze raises my hackles, and I find I'm covered in sweat. A couple of skinny housewives stare at me from a narrow doorway, and I realize I'm pitching a tent for all to see. I turn away from them and tug my tunic down with one hand, turning the Rock of Arges Dagger around in my other. Hephaestian metalwork. Nice.

The dull, yellowish stone in the pommel glows slightly. Very nice.

I wonder if anyone other than me saw the god. Possibly not. Hopefully the encounters can happen somewhere a little less public in the future. But I'll take what I can get.

The pale stallion bunches and releases between my legs. Sweating, blowing, heaving. Winded from our exertions, but plunging on. No, not Deimos-the horse I stole. Okay, so I kinda named him Deimos, too. Not on purpose, mind you. It just happened that way.

I make incredible time. I'm in Eleusis by nightfall. And then I remember how thoroughly boring Eleusis can be. It's Demeter's sacred city, so everything's about wheat here. Snore.

The blessed farmers are prosperous enough, I suppose. I glean enough coin to buy myself a good room for the night and I try not to keep myself awake thinking about Deimos' new temple in Megara. Because if Deimos (the horse) makes such good time, I might find myself riding straight back there to take another peek at the dirt square before actually heading on to Athens. In fact, if I keep thinking about that tongue, I may never get to Athens at all.

First of all, I tell myself, it's not as if Deimos (the god) lives on the shrine site. He just showed up there once. Second of all, he told me himself that Ares had summoned him. So he's busy.

When you think about it-as assuredly I am-a god can really be anywhere they want, any time. So I didn't need to go back to Megara without the Kronos Stone.

Find the Kronos Stone, and the god'll appear soon enough.

And then what? Now there's a troubling thought.

What if he's got no use for me once he's got the stone? But didn't he say something about "stay or go" to me once I'd completed my stone-location task? That implies that sticking around is an option, doesn't it?

At some point it seems I actually sleep. Crazy dreams about Deimos, sans fringe (and sans leathers) chasing me around the bed trying to tickle me with a stalk of wheat. Don't know whether to cherish that one or do my best to forget it.

It's an easy two-day ride from Eleusis to Athens, which puts me way, way ahead of my self-imposed schedule. Which could be good, since it'll actually give me time to find the stone amongst the trees.

Maybe the stone's attuned to me. I mean, I have actually stolen it twice. I've time traveled with it. I've stopped time with it. Maybe there's a little mineral memory I can access. I'm not sure if that means I should meditate or take up dowsing. Anything I can do to avoid actual work will suffice, though.

I approach the southeast district of Athens while attempting to chant the word "Om." It keeps turning into "Old MacDonald Had a Farm," but I'm doing my best. And as I approach, I'm surprised at the number of people milling about a seemingly unpopulated section of woods. I hope it's something innocuous. An annual picnic. An egg hunt.

And then I spot Hercules, head and shoulders above the crowd. Just my luck. And of course he spots me.

He and Iolaus must've been booking a fast boat to Athens while I was chasing toads in the dark. Figures.

He's smirking a little as he saunters up to me, not that he'd ever admit to smirking. "Autolycus. Glad you could make it."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world." We stare each other down for a moment. "What're we doing?"

He seems a little surprised that I don't already know. And maybe a little reluctant to tell me. "We're...hunting for the Kronos Stone."

"The Kronos Stone?" It's shocking how nonplussed I manage to sound. "But I watched you destroy it!"

"Well, it's back. Mostly. And one of the gods is after it."

I raise my eyebrows. "Any god I know?"

"Deimos."

And here I thought this was all supposed to be a big secret. Silly me. "Do tell," I prompt him.

"He's set up some elaborate ruse about a butter... look, it's not important. He tried to distract me into staying in Corinth rather than traveling through Athens, like we'd planned. And the only thing he could be interested in around here is the stone."

Well, the stone and a certain dashing fellow in green. I'm stroking my mustache without realizing it. I busy my hand with the reins. All right, so I won't be able to hunt for the stone in peace. But one of the working-class schmoes beating the bushes will be likely to spot it. And there's a one-in-three chance I'll be able to spot him before Herc or Iolaus. Maybe more, if I only act like I'm searching when, in fact, I'm watching the other guys instead.

"Nothing like keeping the playthings of the gods out of their hands, hm?" I give Herc a little wink, which he doesn't seem to appreciate. "Oh, c'mon. You know I care about what happens to that pointy green jewel more than anyone."

"Maybe a little too much." Perfect. Were both admitting that I'm gonna snitch it if I get the chance. He thinks it's better to keep an eye on me than to have me running around unescorted. And I'd rather be close at hand when the thing's found. Gotta love these elaborate arrangements.

"So. I guess I'll get started with the search." I wheel Deimos the horse around.

"Nice horse," he says. Sarcastic or serious, I can't tell. He's dry that way.

"Thanks."

"What's his name?"

"Dei...uh...Day I Met Him. He's a racehorse."

"Huh." Hercules ponders the animal. "They always give them such strange names."

"That they do, Hercola. That they do."

I kinda thought maybe he'd come visit me that night. I had this room all to myself at the inn. Herc and Iolaus have a room on the same floor. And wouldn't it be fun trying to keep the noise down so that they don't hear the fireworks?

But I wake up alone, the bed hardly even rumpled. The yellow eye of the Arges Dagger glows at me a little, and that's some consolation, I guess. I wrap a little chamois around it so it doesn't draw any undue attention to itself in front of you-know-who.

After a very dull breakfast, I saunter off into the woods and try to find the most average-looking team to join. They've cordoned the area off into grids, and everyone's got a designated square to sweep.

By nightfall, I realize the only upside is that I've already missed two days of this unrelenting tedium.

Three days, four, and I keep myself busy by imagining the foundation of the Megaran temple being finished, and the slaves hauling the pre-fab column segments from the architect's workshop. Maybe the columns would even be getting stacked up at the site by now.

I switch groups as the pathetic do-gooders begin to annoy me, though by day ten only the most fervent are still scouring the ground at Hercules' behest. Whatever happens, I tell myself, I can't let them know I'm in Deimos' camp. I avoid Iolaus as best I can, because if anyone's going to irritate me into a slip of the tongue, it'll be him. I prepare a bevy of random insults to throw him off guard just in case, and proceed to pepper him with little comments when our paths do cross. I see less and less of him.

It's hard to describe exactly how long ten days are. Two hundred forty hours. Fourteen thousand, four hundred minutes. And...well, I don't know how many seconds. Lots.

Enough time to formulate a plan.

On the eleventh day, some incredulous buffoon raises the Kronos Stone up over his head and draws breath to begin shouting. I'm somersaulting toward him as he flails about in confusion. Luckily he didn't flail too hard or I might not have plucked the stone so neatly from his grubby grasp.

The stone feels strange in my hands, worn and pockmarked. By all that's sacred, this damn well better still work. But the peasant's wailing, and searchers are beginning to gather, and there's no turning back now.

Three months into the future. The Megaran temple should be done. And Deimos will have caught wind about how Autolycus, the cunning King of Thieves, has whisked away the Kronos stone and vanished.

I hope he won't think I'm holding out on him. I suppose I can always travel to a safe spot and go eleven weeks into the past, if that's the case.

I will that puppy to do its thing and there's a wild lurch that sure wasn't there the last time I traveled with it. My stomach tries to flip inside out and the whole world goes liquid around me. Another lurch, and a jolt, and my boots touch down on grass.

"Ah-HA!"

Oh, crap. Iolaus.

"I knew it! I was right!" He's on me like a terrier trying to prize the stone from my hands. "Hercules said you went back in time, but I had a feeling that if I waited here long enough I'd catch you!"

Now why hadn't I done something smart like travel to the past? I stomp on his foot and he howls. He pokes me in the eye. We've each got one hand on the stone and our strength is about matched. We torment each other with our free hands. Sure, it sounds fun, but I wasn't about to spend eternity in a deathlock over the Kronos Stone. I've got things to be, people to do.

Iolaus doesn't flinch when I draw the Rock of Arges Dagger. He knows-and I know-that I'd never really stab him, not even for the Kronos Stone.

But why should I, when a tiny poke in the kiester is all it'll take?

The look on his face is priceless when I disappear. See, he thinks I've jumped into the future or past with the Kronos Stone, even though it's in his own hand! I yoink the stone away while he's gaping, then transport myself a day into the past with the Kronos Stone.

The lurch is still there, worse this time, and I can actually see the day going backwards, Hercules coming and going, sunrise looking like sunset, and everyone walking backwards and spitting water into their waterskins. Small noises pop in and out, some high-pitched, some low rumbles. Then there's a snapping feeling, and both sight and sound are restored. My stomach might take a little longer to stabilize.

Iolaus is still at the spot where I originally disappeared, but he's sitting on the ground eating a sandwich now. Typical. Apparently the Arges magic is still in effect, even though it's yesterday, which is lucky for me. Though maybe the dagger would still work on Curly, since I haven't poked him with it yet, chronologically speaking. Boy. Time travel can really make your head spin.

I pick my way carefully through the field and into Athens proper. Deimos (the horse) is still in the stable where I left him, though I'm not really sure if I should parade into Megara on a horse that I stole there. But then I decide, what the hay? I'd at least like his company on the road to Eleusis. Once I get that far with him, I decide he may as well carry me into Megara. I can always say I found him wandering alongside the road, if anyone asks.

For such a small item, the Kronos Stone's a heavy burden to carry. All the way to Megara, I keep thinking about what I'd like to do with it. Go back twenty-five years and warn Melaegus that he's in danger. What kind of man would I be today if my brother had never been killed? The kind to have great adventures with Hercules and Xena? The kind to traffic with war gods and the Kronos Stone? Not very likely. The King of Thieves would never have lived.

Is that what I want-to kill the man I've become? I don't know what I'd be if I didn't have my past. I don't know if I'd even like myself.

And yet, if I've got the power to prevent my brother's murder, isn't it just the same as killing him myself if I don't use it?

I kind of thought I'd be a little happier to see Megara. But instead I'm dragging my feet. I let Deimos the horse go. Maybe he'll find his way home.

The shrine's mostly done. There's an empty slab of an altar in the middle, and the pediment's carved, but there are still tools and things like that scattered around. I can see red stains on the paving stones where Megarans have already poured libations out in honor of Deimos. I wonder what they make of the pediment? But most people honor all the various gods by way of course and don't think too much of it. Most people aren't ever gonna meet them face to face.

I climb the five steps to the shrine like they're five hundred, my feet getting exponentially heavier with each step until I wonder why it is I haven't sunk down to the center of the earth from the sheer weight of my own limbs. There it is, that wide granite surface, just waiting for an offering to Deimos.

Maybe I can just get him a gift certificate to the marketplace instead. I turn to go, but my heavy feet keep me rooted to the spot. No, no gift certificate. It's the Kronos Stone, or it's nothing.

The past, or the future.

I miss my brother. I do. But I can't take my life and throw the whole thing away. It's been a damn good life, and it's mine.

Up close to the altar, I see these dark circles on the granite, the size of small dinars. Is that architect nuts, using inferior stone on a shrine? And then another circle appears, and another. For cryin' out loud. Now I'm leaking.

I guess I've made my decision. I take the Kronos Stone out of my vest and cradle it there, and wet circles spatter it a little bit, too. It looks haggard and patchy, but it still glows. What a trooper.

I'm holding it hard. I wonder how hard Hercules squeezed it to make it crumble. It kinda feels like maybe I can squeeze it that hard right now.

With a stiff arm, I place it on the altar. A cold 'chink' of stone on stone sounds, and I back off a couple of steps before I do something stupid, like snatching it away again. I can't even look at it. Not anymore. I turn away and drag my feet to the stairs. I only have the strength to go that far. I squat down, dig my elbows into my thighs, and I sit down hard.

"Hey."

I only glance at him long enough to see he's sitting in the very same position I am. His face is full of concern. It's an odd expression on him.

I don't trust my voice, so I nod.

We sit there a while, and some workmen show up and begin cleaning up the perimeter of the site. I can't tell if they can see Deimos or not. No one's tried to walk through him, at least. Maybe they see, and they don't know who he is. I've got nothing to say, so even if he is invisible to everyone else, at least I don't look like a raving lunatic.

"Auto," he says quietly. I turn my head just a little and look at his knee. "It was broken. It wasn't strong enough to take you back that far. Not anymore."

I nod slowly. I sit there for a very long time. I look beside me, and he's gone.

I don't know Deimos well enough to judge whether or not he's telling the truth. But eventually I decide that the Kronos Stone felt really wrong. And if it was out of whack, it wasn't worth the risk of using it like that. Nothing worse than leaping out of the chimney and landing in the firepit.

Salmoneus is in town, and he's concocting some scheme about selling people rocks with names on them and calling them "Earth Pets." But between the Kronos Stone and the Rock of Arges, I think I've had quite enough geology in my life lately, thank you very much.

"Don't forget about the Panther's Sacred Ruby."

I stop with my hand on the doorknob to my room. He's sprawled on the bed fully clothed, boots and all. I wonder if gods' boots track junk into beds or not.

"Where've you been the past week?" I say, leaning against the doorframe. I don't have to aim for a cool tone. It just comes out that way.

He rolls onto his side, up on one elbow, batting his eyelashes. It's almost funny and sexy at once, except I'm kinda pissed off. "Here and there," he says. "War's a bitch. And I'm a busy god."

"I built you a shrine. I gave you the Kronos Stone."

He swings his legs around and folds them under himself, kneeling on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped in front of his thighs. "Yeah. You did." I can't read his expression. It's more serious than the usual facial contortions I've witnessed.

"Well? Don't I even get a 'thank you?' Or is that too plebian for a god to say to a mere mortal?"

He quirks an eyebrow and his trademark grin is back. "How do you know that's not what I came here to say?"

"Oh, please. The only time I hear those two words is when someone's trying to clear the slate so they can ask me to do them another favor."

His eyes light up like he's sat on a beehive. "By golly, Auto, you're right!"

"Don't be a smartass."

Shit. I said that to a god. But he takes it in stride, his grin going toothy, and he slumps back down with his fingers laced behind his head. His legs pop out from under him and he crosses an ankle over one bent knee.

He lays there and smiles at me.

"What?" I ask him.

"Are you done?"

"Done with what?"

"With your pity party." He pulls a hand free and wiggles a little magic out of his fingers, and I'm shoved forward into the room, the door slamming and locking behind me. "I know I was invited and all, but I couldn't decide what to wear."

"How dare-?"

"C'mon, Auto. Just answer the question. Are you done?"

Those pale eyes are on me, half serious, half crazy. And somehow I manage to think about what he just asked me. It's been a few days, and yeah, I suppose I've cooled down. I mean, my mind's already trying to come up with some novel ways to sabotage Salmoneus' idiotic rock endeavor.

Still. I'm not about to concede that easily. I shrug, and find a nearby wall to lean on.

I guess he takes that as a "yes," because his smile widens and he arches off the bed, snaking his arms behind his back and undoing his belt-if that's the proper word for something so wide and metal-encrusted. Judging by the loud thump with which it hits the floor, it's roughly the weight of a Yule ham.

I attempt glaring at him. Don't know if I'm really succeeding or not, but I give it that old college try.

His fingers caress at some lacings on his gauntlets and the gear falls away, thunking beside the belt. He catches his lip between his teeth, still grinning, and starts in on the lacings on his chest that hold the leather shorts-set shut.

"So that's it?" I ask him. Yeah, I'm kicking myself for not just taking the godflesh that's offered, especially since I've been fantasizing about it since the day I met him, but there's still the issue of my pride. "You're decreeing that I've earned the right to your favors?"

He's not rising to the bait. He keeps on smiling and working those criss-crossed laces open. "I came here to say thank you. The best way I know how."

Well. If you're gonna thank someone, it doesn't hurt to make it tangible, I suppose. I walk up beside the bed and cross my arms over my chest.

"Y'know, you're wearing an awful lot of clothes yourself," he says.

I am, aren't I? It's hard to put my finger on what's holding me back. I guess I just wanted more from the Kronos Stone. Or from myself.

"Are you trying to make me beg?" He talks like it's teasing banter but I get the impression he means it for real. He takes me by the wrist and manages to uncross my arms. He slides one of my hands into his suit and it's hot in there where the leather touches his skin. My fingers press gently into the firm curve of his chest. "Please."

I want to. At least I think I do. Crap. I don't know what I want anymore.

Deimos skootches back into the bed and tugs me toward him. I climb in fully clothed, boots and all, wishing I could just shut my brain off and let my body take over.

He hooks his leg over mine and pulls my knee in between his thighs. His fringey arms are around me and his suit's gaping open at the chest. He presses his forehead into mine. "Never thought I'd say this," he says, "but in a way, I'm glad the Kronos Stone is broken. 'Cos I really like the way you turned out."

Oho. Just wait till I make him promise me that he won't use that stone against Hercules.

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