* * *
We need to find Theodora. The first step is to contact Leon and see what he knows. That would be much easier to do if he’d answer his damn phone. He called Connolly several times. He also left messages, which Connolly hasn’t retrieved until now.
It starts off innocuous enough. Leon’s making sure I’m okay, and letting Connolly know he had nothing to do with my kidnapping. Oh, and could Connolly please call him ASAP.
When Connolly didn’t answer that one, the next became more urgent, Leon shedding his “just need to chat” camouflage. Then comes the final message.
“Damn it, Connolly. You aren’t getting back to me so fine. It’s about Theodora. She’s missing. Her dad had heart palpitations—allegedly—and her mother was freaking out, so Theodora went home at just before midnight. I know she got there. Then she vanished. She’s not answering her cell and my friend finder shows it’s still at their condo in Boston.”
A pause then. “As for why Theo has me on FindMyFriends, well, I hope I don’t need to spell it out. I went by her parents’ condo. It’s empty. Theo’s gone, and with all this marriage bullshit, I’m really hoping it has nothing to do with you.”
Connolly calls and texts Leon, but there’s no response. We drive back to Boston, where we meet up with Mercy and Athene, and we still haven’t heard from Leon. The next time we call, it goes straight to voice mail, as if his phone’s dead.
“Do we have any idea where her parents would take her?” I ask Connolly.
We’ve switched into Athene’s car. We’re in the back while she drives and Mercy rides shotgun. Mercy has, once again, changed outfits. Today she’s gender neutral, no makeup, hair partly pulled into a Samurai-style tiny ponytail, with an untucked Oxford shirt, rolled up chinos and sandals.
“They have a Boston condo according to that message,” I say. “What else?”
Connolly doesn’t reply.
“Is there anything else?” I press.
“Yes, and that’s the problem. I’m not even sure where to begin. Between investments and businesses, they own at least a dozen properties in Boston. They have an estate, but it’s closer to New York, where they have several more properties.”
“I believe I can narrow that down.” Athene pulls over and takes out her phone.
“Please tell me you have a tracking device on your dad,” I say.
Her lips tighten. “I would prefer you did not refer to him as my father. That implies a relationship he never held in any more than a biological sense.”
“Just call him Zeus, please,” Mercy says, twisting to face us with a small smile.
“As for tracking him,” Athene says, “he is far too savvy for ordinary methods, and to be bluntly honest, I do not wish to expend the effort finding better ones when it might mean I feel obligated to actually keep an eye on him. This is a special case. Our mother would want us to warn whoever he intends to marry. We expected that he would have wooed his new bride with charm and promises, and we’d need to set her straight. Instead, it seems he’s skipping the formalities.”
“Which makes this a rescue mission,” Mercy says.
“Yes, and while I do not know precisely where he is, I have managed to track his general whereabouts.” She lifts her phone. “A marina.”
“The yacht,” Connolly says as Athene pulls from the curb. “Yes. They own a yacht.”
“They’re taking her into international waters,” I say. “Is that a thing? Can they force a marriage easier on the high seas?”
“I have no idea,” Athene says. “But if there’s any loophole for Theodora to get out of this wedding, Zeus will have closed it. To the marina it is.”
* * *
On the way, I remember to ask Athene and Mercy about the remaining painting.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Athene says briskly. “We are resolving this.”
“Right . . .” I say. “And you told me I didn’t need to worry about anything after the first painting. And after the second. I’m worried.”
“Agreed,” Connolly says.
“Yeah,” Mercy says from the front seat, twisting to face us and her sister. “They need to know, Teeny.”
“We are not allowing them anywhere near—”
“Athene?” Mercy says. “If you want to put on your earbuds, listen to your white noise app, you do that. You don’t need to hear this, but they do.”
“I am driving. I cannot put in earbuds. And I do not need to block this conversation.” She glances at us in the rear-view mirror. “The eldest son was a devil. His mother’s demon spawn.”
“She means that figuratively,” Mercy says.
“Obviously,” Athene snaps. “There is no such thing as demons.”
“Have you met our paternal DNA contributor? Also, technically speaking, we might all be what humans call demons. We actually are, as the so-called Greek gods. With the rise of monotheistic religion, most so-called pagan gods were re-cast as demons.”
“Stop that,” Athene says. “I’m driving.”
Mercy grins at us. “What Athene means is that she doesn’t want me tossing philosophical questions into her brain while she’s focused on something else. She gets very easily distracted.”
“I do not.”
“Take the Christian devil himself. Is he not a fallen angel? That means—”
“Stop.”
“If you’re trying to derail us,” I say, “that won’t work either. I want to know about the damn painting.”
“Sorry,” Mercy says. “Yeah, in the case of the older son, the apple did not fall far from the monstrous-Momma tree. You recall the beginnings of the drama. Momma insisted Athene get her sons back and rain down hellfire on her rivals. Athene refused. When Marius also refused, she hired mercenaries. They rescue the two sons, but in trying to wreak vengeance, the older one is killed. The younger one escapes, with his enemies hot on his heels. He dies fighting them.”
“And his sister—terrified by their mother’s stories of what will happen to her—commits suicide.”
“Yes. What’s missing from that version is the reason the other family pursued the younger son. Remember, this wasn’t the ancient world or even the medieval one. We’re in Italy, during the Renaissance. One family might kidnap—or even kill—the members of a rival family, but they’re not chasing them down the street with swords. Not unless they have a really good reason.”
“The older son gave them that reason,” I murmur.
“From what I understand, the younger son just wanted to get the hell out of there. The mercenaries came, and they were under orders to kill as many members of the rival family as possible, but younger son wanted none of it. He fled. His older brother did not. Nor did he march downstairs and confront the sons of that rival family, who were all in the courtyard wagering on a cock fight. He went to the nursery.”
“Oh!” I say.
“Yeah, I won’t go into details. There were children, and young wives. All unarmed. When the men of the family heard the commotion and discovered what the oldest son had done, they killed him and then went after his family in retribution.”