I have the urge to climb the staircase and explore every inch of this place. The building could’ve come from ancient Greece. The marble, the carvings, the gold accents. We’ve been transported to another world.
And that’s further accentuated by the masks. They, like the people and their outfits, range from unassuming to ostentatious. A woman passes us with a rich purple mask that covers most of her face, and giant purple plumbs create a crown effect.
“I’ve never had them let me in for free,” Marley says in my ear. “I think you’re my good luck charm. But just wait—they’ll be starting soon.”
“Starting what?”
She winks. “Watching you figure it out is going to be the best part of the night.”
I sigh.
But then something catches my attention. Not something—someone. He comes down the staircase and stops on the landing.
At the same time, the giant doors behind us close with a boom.
I suppress my flinch.
It’s Apollo.
He’s gorgeous in the light. Gorgeous and scary, although I think I’m just transferring my fear from the last time we met onto him now.
You know what he’s capable of.
His bare chest is painted in streaks of gold handprints dragged down his skin, disappearing into his brown leather pants. His mask is the same gold animal skull. Golden horns spring out of the temples and twist up and back, and leather strands with feathers and beads hang off the sides, brushing the tops of his shoulders.
I’d guess him to be some sort of warrior, directly out of a myth.
He waits for the crowd to notice him. Quiet falls over us all, our rapt attention snared on him. The way he would want it, I can’t help but think.
His dark eyes sweep over the crowd, and I take the slightest step back. The skin around his eyes is painted black, adding to the allusion of his mask. When we’re silent, he raises his arms out to either side.
The crowd can’t help but lean forward slightly in anticipation.
I want to run.
“Welcome.” His voice isn’t loud, but it carries across the room. It’s deep and goes straight through my chest. He gives us a feral grin. “Welcome to Olympus.”
The people around me stamp their feet. Marley included.
I glance around, my brow crinkling, and that otherness feeling in the pit of my stomach increases. I’ve carried it around since I became the invisible girl, but here, it seems magnified.
“I’m Apollo. Your host for the evening.” He takes a step down, closer to us. “Last week, we found our Chosen. This week, they fight. But who will succeed? Who will walk out of our halls with their dignity—and other things—intact? Who will have to be scraped off the floor?”
The crowd cheers. They’re incited by the violence. The noise bursts out of them like a flock of birds taking off, sudden and chaotic. I suppress my wince. I don’t know why I feel so betrayed by Marley. I don’t like blood. Want nothing to do with it, having seen my fair share of it. I watch her for a moment, but she seems as rapt as the rest of them. I’m just along for the ride. So, I turn my attention back to Apollo.
Shockingly, his gaze seems to be on me. Shivers like ice race down my back. I wouldn’t be surprised to have just been doused in cold water. I’m different, I remind myself. The hair, the septum ring, the outfit. At the same time, my face heats behind the mask and makeup. He can’t be looking at me—but my body is certainly reacting like he is.
He holds my stare for a long moment, but then his eyes do move when he continues, “The doors are open, my friends. See you soon.”
His hand twitches, and a sharp pop echoes in the room. Smoke bursts from the marble at his feet, billowing upward and obscuring him. When it clears, moments later, he’s gone.
Marley grabs my hand. “Wasn’t that epic? Come on, we need a good view.”
Already, the crowd is pushing up the stairs. Some stay on the same level and wind around the staircase, going through the other archways.
“A fight?” I clarify. “Really?”
“It’s more than that.” She squeezes. “It’s not… It’s cathartic. And these people do crazy things to be chosen. It’s an honor.”
“How many times have you been here?” I shouldn’t be mad, but she never mentioned it.
And I guess I never mentioned it, either. So we’re both liars.
She winces. “Janet and I went a few times. Maybe four or five?”
I sigh and squeeze her hand back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t judge—and I’ve been a terrible friend. You coming to get me out of my funk is very nice.”
She adjusts her seashell mask and smiles. “Well, good. Thank you. And I wouldn’t bring you here if I didn’t think you’d like it. Plus, we can just ogle the man-candy.”
Well, that’s not the worst thing in the world. “Okay, fine.”
She leads the way up the stairs, throwing elbows and cutting her way through the bodies. We take the left staircase. At the top, the option to turn left is blocked off by rope. We go right. If we were to take another immediate right, it would connect to the side of the atrium where the other staircase meets.
“This place is wild,” I say under my breath.
She nods. “Definitely. It’s part of the magic.”
Isn’t that how I had thought of it earlier? Magical. Yet, I’d reckon that this sort of magic exacts its own sort of price on someone.
I’m reminded again of the instructions Kronos left for me, and the time allowance he gave me slipping down the drain.
Greek mythology has always been of interest to me. Hades is the ruler of the underworld. A dangerous man, one of three brothers—Zeus, Poseidon, and him. We have Apollo, and the red-masked man might have taken a god’s name. I wonder if there are more Greek gods floating around Olympus.
The wide hallway has arched openings every few yards on the right side. People mill around, stopping at the small bar closest to us. Farther down, another one. Raven-masked men pour the drinks. But it isn’t just drinks—they’re taking bets, too. Handing out gilded cards in exchange for cash.
We ignore the bar and keep going, then through one of the openings. We’re on a balcony much like an old theater box. Some are larger than others, but most hold seven to ten people at the rails. There are no seats—I guess because they don’t want people getting too comfortable? Or maybe because no one bothers to sit down in this sort of atmosphere.
I look down to a clear view of the ring. Below, bodies pack together and inch closer to the fighting ring. The room is filling up, as well as the balconies. The chatter in the air is loud, and the energy palpable. It doesn’t smell like a fighting ring. There’s no trace of sour sweat and fear. No blood. Just the sweet fragrance of women’s perfume and something spiced.
“How often do they do this?” I glance at her.
Apollo steps up onto the raised platform. He kicks at the floor, which I now notice is made of sand, and claps.
“Every other Friday,” she says.
I calculate in my head. There are four Fridays in September, and this is the second. So if I can return in fourteen days and manage to steal Hades’ mask… If I fail, I’ll have just under a week to figure out a different plan.