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“Very keen of you. I can alter time, but not for very long, and not frequently.”
“Awesome! Then you can spin back the clock and send me back to Earth!”
It takes me a moment to decipher his vocabulary. “I told you, I can’t turn back the seasons. If you were brought here by the Great Phoenix, then we need to find out why.”
“Yeah, some explanations would be real nice,” he says as he waves away a fly buzzing around his face.
Tyler has mud caked into his rye-colored hair and his face is smeared with dried dark earth, which makes the gray of his eyes shine like the moon on a cold night. Beneath the grime, his skin is a creamy white, and if not for his experienced physique, I would’ve imagined him a noble person or someone who’d never picked up a heavy object in his life. I can’t pretend it’s not alluring to me. There aren’t many who share Tyler’s ethereal features.
It all seems to be more evidence that he’s from a realm beyond ours. My mind goes to the old myths of gods and demigods sent to Circeana from Mount Gaia.
“So where are we going?” he asks. “I hope nowhere important, not unless I’m good walking around in a muddy t-shirt and jeans.”
“Muddy is good,” I say. “We don’t want to draw attention. It’s better if you look like a beggar.”
He tugs on the front of his garment unhappily. “Whatattention? We’re the only people out here. Aside from the frogs…”
“Not for long.”
The path winds back and forth up a hill. Nestled in the trees to our left is a small altar made of worn marble, draped in a tattered purple cloth with a scattering of offerings set upon it. I stop in front of it.
“What’s this?” Tyler asks.
“A shrine to the god of travelers,” I say before grabbing a corner of the cloth and yanking it off the altar, sending the offering bowls clattering across the cracked marble surface. I wrap it around Tyler’s shoulders like a cloak. “We move with cover. If you’re here because of the Great Phoenix, then we don’t want anyone to find out. And your clothing is anything but discreet, muddy or not.”
Tyler pulls the cloak tight across his chest, completely obscuring his garb beneath it. “Is desecrating a shrine to the god of travelers really such a good idea?” he asks.
I shrug. “They won’t mind. They’re also the god of thieves.”
“That makes absolutely no sense,” he says.
“Come on, this way.”
We ascend the path to the rocky crest of the hill where atall oak tree shades a view of the bustling town nestled in the river valley below.
Tyler’s mouth drops open when he sees it. “Ho-ly shit. This is real. This is really real.”
“Aelonos,” I say. “Central trading hub of the region. Everything comes through here. You would’ve too if I hadn’t rescued you from those frogs.”
“So now you’re taking credit for it?” he asks with a laugh, and we head down to the town.
3
TYLER
This place is a fever dream, and every minute that passes takes me further down the rabbit hole. I stare at the terracotta roofs of the town bathed in afternoon sunlight and feel the warm breeze rushing through the valley. The smell of the town drifts on it—a potent mixture of cooking, smoke, dust, and manure.
I suddenly remember a book on Greek history I used to love borrowing from the local library when I was a kid, filled with incredible paintings imagining and recreating life in ancient Greek cities. That’s exactly what this place reminds me of. There’s a large building at the center of the town lined with wooden columns that’s probably a temple, beside it is a spread of red and blue canopies forming the marketplace, and clustered all around are smaller buildings and even what looks like a running track with bleachers.
We go down the path that connects to the main road,busy with traffic. Kalistratos pulls the loose wrap of his tunic up over his head like a hood and indicates for me to do the same. He grabs my arm and pulls me against him.
“Don’t stray from my side,” he warns.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. My heart is pounding. I peer out from beneath the hood and inhale sharply as a group of men in wolf masks passes by us. Then I realize they’re not masks at all, it’s their actual faces. They’re seven-foot-tall werewolves dressed in long tunics and equipped with curved swords on their belts. What are those called? Scimitars? Two of them are carrying large packs and one of them gulps liquid from an earthenware jug. Some of it dribbles down the side of his jaw, and he laps it up with a long tongue. But not all of them are so beast-like. I notice that two of their group look almost completely human, except for a pair of wolf ears and bushy tails.
Alphas, I think to myself.They’re all alphas. Again, I don’t know how I can tell, but that muscle is getting stronger.
Kalistratos still has my arm in a tight grip.
