Page 2 of Blood of Hercules
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 thatno oneasked 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 saidtentatively. 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.
