This is a work of gay-themed romantic fantasy. Some chapters contain graphic descriptions of sex not all of which is consensual or between adults. If reading material of this nature offends or upsets you IN ANY WAY please click away now. Likewise, if the laws in your locale compromise either of us legally, please follow the above instructions and depart by the way you came in. If neither of these caveats apply, I hope you enjoy my latest story.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Goin' Back to Cali
"Brad--a letter from the college arrived for you yesterday," Robb Fox said shortly after the newest Olympian had come for his weekly Sunday visit with his father and Robb's instant family. "It looks very official."
"Coach Rita has been a busy little bee," the strawberry blond told his father. He held up the letter. "She was never satisfied with my performance on the Cheer Squad but when I called to let her know I wasn't able to come back she acted like I had personally betrayed her somehow; I don't know what set her off! This is to inform me that my scholarship was canceled and my residency in Athlete's Housing has been revoked! Not that it surprised me; the scholarship was predicated on me being a Cheerleader; now that I'm not--POOF! I wasn't getting that much except a few bucks off my fees and priority registration--which she can't take away, this semester at least! And honestly, now that I've been elevated to Godhood I'm not sure Dorm life would work for me..."
"So, what are you going to do Son?"
"Thanks to my drawing account I have access to enough money to buy a place," the strawberry blond replied. "I'm going to look for something within a reasonable distance of UCLA that I can buy without breaking the bank: if I can find a good-sized property I can fix up on the West Side, that would be great but otherwise I'll probably end up buying in West Adams. That neighborhood is in transition: the houses are older and a lot of them still have their original charm--plus, being `Skid Row adjacent' I can probably get a really good deal and re-sell it later!"
"I'd love to be a fly on the wall when you meet your Realtor," Ward Kingsbury offered, as his father's "de-facto" husband came to join the conversation. "I hope whoever you choose doesn't kick you out of the office!"
"Got that covered," Brad responded with a wry grin. "I'll dress casually but expensively, drive up in a classic car and casually name drop a few of the young, hip and trendy clients the guy has worked with before... That ought to be enough to get me in the door and looking at properties. Then, once he sees my `Proof of Funds' he won't care how old I am!"
"Are you sure you want to take on a fixer?" Robb asked.
"I need to build equity," the young man replied.
"Aren't you worried you might be getting in a bit over your head?" Ward asked. "Trust me on this one Bradley--Sheila and I nearly ended up divorcing over the kitchen and bath renovations we did when we still lived in Irvine!"
"Pity you didn't," the young man snarked. "You could have saved a lot of people a bunch of trouble!"
"BRADLEY!" Robb Fox saw the look of pain that crossed Ward's face. "Not appropriate!"
"No, he's right!" Ward replied. "My relationship with Sheila did untold damage to both my kids, hurt you, me, Bradley and our relationship! If I'd gotten out of it sooner maybe we wouldn't be where we are now! Brad--I'm truly sorry for all the trouble you had to go through for us! I never properly thanked you for saving Kyle from that--sarcophagus thing! I really appreciate you doing that!"
"I'd have done it for anyone in the same position," Brad told him. "Truth to tell--Kyle and I used to get along pretty well! He was like the `little brother' I never had. I'm glad he's doing better and I hope there isn't too much lasting damage because of all the crap the Changeling pulled."
"Still, I'm grateful," Ward replied. "If there's any help I can provide during the reno just let me know, OK? Trust me--it's harder than you think!"
"Maybe it's just godly overconfidence but I think I can handle it," the strawberry blond young man told him. "I have access to everything Prometheus knows so I ought to be able to resolve the issue. If I can't fix it I can always call on some of Hephaestus's people to help me out."
"Sounds like you've got this figured out then!" Ward allowed.
"Do you plan on living alone?" his father asked.
"I think it would be best if Corey lived with me off campus, being a satyr and all," Brad told his father. "I suppose I'll have to ask Chase to move in as well to avoid a scene..."
"I hope that's not going to be TOO difficult," his father observed. "I know you and he have a--complex--history..."
"That's one way to put it!" Brad agreed.
Brad had made arrangements for his newly-purchased "Woody" (a custom-crafted re-imagining of the classic Station Wagon with all the bells and whistles Vulcan Motorsports could add in). He was ready to translocate to the parking garage in West LA where it had been left when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the screen he saw the caller was Zeus. He picked up at once. "Yes Sir?"
"Bradley, I understand you are about to head down to Southern California for the day; could you stop by my office briefly before you go?"
"Certainly Sir," the young man replied, "I'll be right there..."
Zeus's Secretary wasted no time informing the Boss that Brad was waiting to see him. The newest Olympian stepped into Jonathan Storm's sumptuous, elegantly-decorated office to find the King of the Gods looking both sexy and very powerful in a charcoal gray custom-tailored suit. The room had a commanding view of Olympus Island from a rank of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in vistas from the central mountains to the Marina. While the faux Zeus had preferred an office full of "toys" and garish colors the current CEO of OlympusCo had gone for a more restrained gray palette with occasional dashes of royal purple. The entire space whispered "this is the domain of a very powerful man--tread carefully" and Brad was quick to follow the implied advice. "Thank you for coming, young man," the CEO of OlympusCo said. "May I offer you some coffee? No wait--you prefer Chai, right?" Brad nodded and the Replicator PING-ed. (It seemed the new Zeus had made friends with AIDIA.) "Have a seat," the older man said as he passed the steaming cup of foaming rose-tan liquid to his guest.
"What can I do for you?" Brad asked.
"I gave Cronos a courtesy call to inform him you would be moving into the area," Zeus told him. "At first he was--let's say less than happy that you were coming but eventually I managed to talk him down a bit! Still, the King of the Titans would like to meet with you before he grants permission for you to settle in his territory."
Brad's heart sank a bit; he knew the Titans had freed themselves from Tartarus and established a power base in Los Angeles (much as the Olympians had settled in Seattle) but he hadn't considered interacting with them. Now it seemed he found himself having to deal with yet another Pantheon--this one composed largely of ancient Gods who hadn't been forced to reincarnate over and over. "Um--how do you want me to play this, Sir?" the newest Olympian asked politely.
"Carefully," the CEO and King of Olympus replied. "Cronos seemed willing to entertain the idea of peaceful coexistence, maybe even an alliance! Still, he may have some abiding anger over what happened a few thousand years ago when my ancestor supplanted him! He seemed intrigued you'd chosen a Titan's name and that you were a brand-new God; maybe he'll try to recruit you. I trust I can count on you to remember who Created you and where your interests lie..."
Brad felt his hackles raising just a bit but he kept his facial expression carefully neutral. "Of course Sir," he replied politely. While part of him resented Zeus's overt attempt to control him, Brad realized he had more standing and power with the Olympians then he ever would with the Titans. "I'll do what I can to reassure Lord Cronos I have no intention of provoking them in any way. Do you mind if I offer them my Consulting Service? I think that would go a long way to insuring peace between both groups..."
"Do what you think best Bradley," Zeus told him. "You handled Thoth well enough; Cronos is already prepared to like you so I think you can handle whatever he might throw at you! Just don't obligate Olympus to any kind of deal without consulting me first, OK?"
"I know better than to do that," Brad replied.
"I knew I could count on you boyo!"
While Brad was waiting for his Zephyr to take him back to The Arbor in front of the OlympusCo Offices he spotted someone sitting on a nearby bench, seemingly scrolling through his phone. It was the same guy the newest Olympian had seen trailing them when he was on Zeus's yacht the previous Saturday but today he had on a nicely-pressed oxford cloth shirt in pale blue, a navy blazer, expensive jeans and boat shoes. Still, there was no forgetting those devastating eyes, blue as the zenith on a perfectly clear day, those shoulders that went on for days, the hank of honey-colored hair that cascaded in waves to the middle of his shoulder blades, that perfect golden tan (the same shade from top to bottom) and the well sculpted features that would have put any male model to shame. "Hey!" Brad called, starting toward the man.
The figure put his phone away got up as if he didn't hear the young man and casually started walking away. Before Brad could get to him, he melted into a passing clump of Office Workers and he was momentarily lost from sight. When the crowd cleared Brad found the stranger had vanished like the last traces of morning mist. And, yes, just as before, his senses couldn't trace him. "What--the--FUCK?" he growled.
"So Braddie is it--or do they call you Bratty?" Syd Schulmann may have been one of the top Realtors on the West Side but after a few minutes with this most annoying man the newest Olympian was already beginning to question his choice. Schulmann hadn't wanted to meet the young man at his Office (no doubt being afraid some of his fellow Realtors might tease him about having to "babysit"; instead he'd arranged a meeting at a local Coffee Shop called Jitters--modeled after the one in The Flash TV show. At least the coffee was decent (if overpriced) and the Barista was easy on the eyes. The tables were comfortable and large enough to work from. The company, on the other hand, was already starting to wear thin.
"My first name ain't `Bratty', it's Bradley!" he snapped. "Mr. Fox if you're nasty!"
"Look at you slingin' the 80s references!" the Realtor quipped. "You're what? Fifteen?"
"I'll be legal on Halloween," Brad told him coldly. "Here's what you need to know so listen up! I don't intend to repeat myself! I MADE my first million' at age 12 after being gifted $10,000 in stock for my tenth birthday! By age fifteen I'd turned that million into twenty-five! Since then I've piled up quite the bank account as the proof-of-funds' statement I sent you shows! Someone is going to make a nice commission off an albatross property! You were recommended to me but I'll be happy to take my money elsewhere..."
"Hey, kid, can't you take a joke?"
Brad fixed him with a cold stare. "I think you'd have figured out by now the answer to that question is a resounding NO!" he said.
"Fine! Fine!" the man answered, trying to soothe his potential client's ruffled feathers. "What are you looking for?"
"Something in Santa Monica or West LA," Brad replied. "Minimum three beds, two baths with parking for at least two cars! Ideally, it should be within a reasonable commuting distance of UCLA. I want something that's in dire need of a fix up--can you help me find it?"
"There aren't too many available properties like that where you're looking..." the Realtor replied cautiously. Having seen Brad's "proof-of-funds" he was desperate to "upsell" what he thought was an inexperienced first-time buyer. "You don't want the hassle of a fixer! I can show you some amazing places that have been completely remodeled that are ready for a swingin' bachelor like yourself to move right in! I've got connections; I swear I can get you a GREAT deal! Trust me, bubeleh, an inexperienced buyer doesn't want to take on a fixer! Let me show you something in line with where you SHOULD be living and how! Whaddaya think?"
"I think somebody else already got the equity out of the deal!"
"Or," said another voice, "I can show you exactly what you're looking for!" This man was tall and well-built, with light brown hair and green eyes. "I'm Scott Sackett of Sackett-Talbert Realty," he said, sticking out a strong, nicely shaped and well-tanned hand.
"Hey, you can't do that!" Schulmann was livid. "Bradeleh boychik is MY client! You can't just swoop in here and steal him out from under my nose! That's poaching!"
"You don't seem to be able to provide what this young man is asking for," the new arrival said calmly. "I can."
"I'm listening..." Brad said, fixing the agent with a cool blue gaze.
"The property I have in mind for you is four blocks from the beach," Sackett told him. "Four-bedroom Craftsman with two and a half baths, a two-car garage and a third carport. There isn't a lot of yard but the property has 3100 square feet for $999,708! They call it Surf Central!"
""You want to show him that shack!" Syd Schulmann burst out. "It's a piece of shit!"
"It's also in one of the last sections of classic, early 20th Century architecture in Santa Monica," Scott went on. "The property is in rotten shape but the current owner is resistant to selling because he believes once the first house goes it's only a matter of time until the entire area is replaced with McMansions."
"We can't have that!" Brad said. "When can we go see the property?"
"How about now?"
"Sounds good to me!" the strawberry blond replied. "Mr. Schulmann--thanks for taking the meeting with me but I think I've found my Realtor!"
"Wow, this place is a DUMP!" Brad observed once the two men arrived at the house in Santa Monica.
"You said you wanted a fixer'," Scott replied. "This house fits your criteria exactly. If you have the vision, persistence and cash you can make her beautiful again! Look at that large Front Porch and those huge windows! This house gets lots of light and most of the original character' is still intact! There's hardwood under a few layers of linoleum and carpet; a lot of the traditional craftsman features that were never torn out. You just have to uncover all of it."
"I can see that," Brad agreed. "Yeah, it's going to need a LOT of work but I think I can handle it. Write up the offer at asking--including the $708 for God! I want to close in seven days and I'm not asking for any conditions or concessions!"
"Don't you want a tour before you take a step like that?" the Realtor asked. "I mean--I'll write up the offer for you if you'd like but I'd feel better if you took a look inside!"
Brad glanced sideways to see an all-too familiar face staring at him over the short wall that divided the front yard from the street. Now he was wearing a tank top that showed off a lot of tanned hairy chest, loud surfer baggies that couldn't conceal a truly magnificent ass and impressive bulge up front. The well-sculpted, muscular legs visible from the knees down were deeply tanned and hairy; his large feet were shoved into flip flops. In short, the stalker looked a lot like any other surfer dude in Santa Monica. He licked his lips and gave Brad a LOOK that reminded him of a hungry dog waiting for his dinner. "On second thought, lets go have a look inside..." Who the fuck IS this guy? He wondered.
Inside the house was pretty much what the strawberry blond young man expected. The plumbing and electrical systems needed to be completely redone along with gutting and restructuring the kitchen. One of the bathrooms could be salvaged with a little cosmetic work but the 1970s second bathroom addition was another gut job and Brad realized he'd need to raise the attic a bit if he wanted to create a Master Suite in the finished attic; at least the house was constructed to hold the extra weight! Most of the original woodwork and special cabinetry remained, buried under several coats of paint, musty carpet or a few layers of linoleum. The good news was that almost all the details that made a Craftsman home special were still there if in bad shape. The small back yard had been paved over and the garage was barely standing. "I can make this work," he said to Scott. "Write the offer up I made you and make sure I get this house!"
"My pleasure Mr. Fox!" The Realtor replied. "If ever you need any additional property I'm your man!"
""I might be calling you fairly soon," the young man replied after signing the paperwork Scott hastily drafted. "If things go well I may need to buy some office space!"
The two men walked outside and Brad was surprised to find his hot blonde stalker had been replaced by a pair of giants. The shorter of the two was 6'8" and the other was even taller. They were broad, squarely-built and very well-muscled. Brad recognized them as Atlas and a third-generation Titan who went by the name Orion. He was Atlas's son. Both men were dark haired, brown-eyed and olive skinned; they wore identical "black on black" suits and were sweating in the warm, humid afternoon. "You need to come with us!" Atlas barked. "Now!"
"Ah--do I need to call the Cops?" Scott asked.
"No, I know these guys," Brad replied, radiating calmness. "I was expecting to see them this trip anyway..." I just didn't expect to be contacted this soon or in this manner, he thought. "Just get to work on closing the deal!"
"Carry me Akee go to Linstead Market! Not a quatti would sell! Carry me Akee go to Linstead Market--not a quatti would sell. Lord what a night! Not a bite--on a Saturday night! LORD what a night, not a bite! On a Saturday night..."
"Stop singing that stupid song!" Atlas raged from the front seat of the Hummer he was driving. "Just sit there and shut the fuck UP!"
"Or we might have to get rough with you!" Orion chimed in.
"You ARE aware all Olympians can translocate, right?" Brad said mildly. "Carry me Akee go to Linstead Market..." Orion made a swipe at the backseat which the young man dodged easily. "Now, now--Lord Cronos would probably like me there in one piece, don't you think guys?"
"Why is it taking so fucking long?" Orion whined.
"You're going from Santa Monica to the Hollywood Hills at Rush Hour," Brad needlessly informed him. "Of COURSE it's going to take forever! Oh, and `bee-tee-dubs', you're about to run out of gas! You might want to think about getting off the freeway and filling this behemoth up because, FYI, I don't plan to sit by the side of the freeway while we wait for the Auto Club!"
Atlas looked down at the fuel indicator. "FUCK!"
"How did you know that?" Orion asked, curious in spite of himself. "You can't see the Dashboard..."
"Didn't they tell you? I'm Argus Panoptes!"
Atlas bulled his way to an offramp and found a handy Shell station. The Super Premium pump clicked up its pricy charges and the Hummer took a LOT of gas. "Why don't you guys convert to electric?" Brad asked Orion.
"Can you do that?" the young Titan asked.
"Oh, that's right, you Titans don't have a tech type, do you?"
"You're really enjoying tweaking us," Orion said accusingly.
"Yep," Brad said mischievously. "You more-or-less KIDNAPPED me and I don't take kindly to that! Worse, you pick fucking RUSH HOUR to drag me across a car-crazed city because none of you know how to translocate! Then, to add insult to injury you stick me in the back seat of a car that rides like a stagecoach and the Air Conditioning in this behemoth SUCKS BALLS back here! So, yes, I'm CRANKY! If Cronos wanted to see me so badly you could have delivered the invitation and I could have zapped myself directly there! But, NO, you have to show what badasses you are and try to strong arm me! Oh, and did I mention I'm HUNGRY???"
"Um--there's a McDonalds across the street..." the young Titan said trying to be helpful.
Brad gave him a scathing look. "Would YOU eat at McDonalds?" he asked coldly.
"Um--maybe if it was McRib season..."
"And is it McRib season?" Brad asked poisonously. He was having a grand time annoying the two Titans because he was well aware that, bluster though they might, neither of them dared lay a hand on their guest. Once he got to Cronos though, Brad knew he was going to have to change his tune; the Titan of Time could age him to dust if he chose. In the meantime though he was having great fun clowning this pair of muscle-heads.
Once the vehicle was refueled Brad conjured a bag containing several fresh, hot McRib sandwiches, and noisily began eating them. "MM--porky!" he moaned. "Saucy! Yum! Get in my belly McRib!"
"Porky... Saucy..." Orion whined. He turned to face the young man in the back seat. "Um--can I have one? Please...?"
"NO SOUP FOR YOU!"
"I don't want soup!" the giant said.
"Shut up--BOTH of you!" Atlas was about to lose his mind.
By the time they finally arrived at a gated mansion high in the Hollywood Hills Brad was pleasantly stuffed with McRibs, fresh-cut "In N Out" fries all washed down with an old-fashioned A&W Root Beer Float. He was the very picture of cowed innocence when Atlas dragged the young man before Cronos, Lord of the Titans.
Cronos, currently at least, was a big man in his middle forties; his short sandy hair was high on his forehead but he had very attractive green eyes behind wire-frame glasses. Like all Titan males, he was broad but he looked like he'd let himself go into middle age with a bit of a spare tire around his middle and softening the planes of his face. Fluffs of curly, light brown fur covered his arms and peeked out from under his t-shirt and soft old jeans. He was bare footed and even the tops of his feet were a little furry. "What are you doing here boy?" he asked. His voice was deep and now it was rather growly and went well with the "bear" image he was projecting,
"Your men said you wanted to see me Sir," Brad replied, smiling tentatively. His every move, gesture and expression were carefully planned out in advance to send a very specific message. "I assumed you had questions for me--which I'm willing to answer! You have but to ask my Lord..." The newest Olympian slapped himself mentally at the last comment; some of his natural snark had crept out.
"Fine!" Cronos said. "What are you doing HERE in Los Angeles? If you're that rat-bastard Prometheus's get you've got to know this is Titans territory!"
"I take exception to you calling my first Patron a `rat-bastard'!" Brad said coldly, completely abandoning his prepared script. "However, since you've already had me looked into you probably know the answer; I'm here for the reasons Phoebe, Mnemosyne and Themis already told you--not to mention what you heard from Zeus; I was enrolled at UCLA before I was Elevated to Godhood and I need to complete my degree! I'd rather not switch schools since I've already paid my tuition for the next Semester's classes."
"You're a GOD, boy!" Cronos boomed. "If what I hear about your intellect is true you don't need a worthless degree from a human university!"
"Forgive Uncle Ron..." A "mermaid" haired female came striding into the room. The waves of blue, green and turquoise marked her as a daughter of Oceanus and Tethys. Like all Titans, she was tall--slightly over six feet unshod but she wasn't as beefy as the boys. "Sometimes he forgets the current world has needs which must be met!"
"My lady Metis, I presume?" Brad said politely.
"My, you're a well-mannered boy!" she said. "Yes, I am Metis, Titan of Wisdom. I also act as one of `Unc's' financial advisors!"
"Run along child!" Cronos snapped. "I'll handle this!"
"You'll make a complete balls-up of it, you mean!" she snapped, making no move to leave. Metis sat down to watch the show even as the Lord of the Titans glowered at her.
"You are quite correct, my Lady Metis," Brad said politely before turning his attention back to Cronos. "Yes, I may have access to almost all the knowledge of the world but there are many situations where I'd be benefitted by having a degree. Besides, while I'm not in class there are things I can do to help you out..."
The hook was set and Cronos bit. "Like what?"
"Bradley's abilities can steer us toward good investments and away from bad ones!" Metis set, reeling the "whale" in for the newest Olympian. "The girls and I are good but he's better!"
"And why should I trust that protégé of the traitor Prometheus?"
"For the same reason you trust me `Unc'!" she said saucily.
"With all due respect Sir, it's not in my interest to fuck you over," Brad said, feeling he needed to steer the conversation back in the direction he chose. "Together the Titans and Olympians can make a lot of money for each other! Should you be foolish enough to start a war with Olympus you would surely lose! Then Olympus would be easy prey for the Norse, Egyptians or Asian Deities!"
"And what makes you think your side would win?" Cronos snapped.
"If I may speak freely..." Brad replied. "You control a sizable Real Estate Empire and own Titan Security. It makes you a lot of money! But Olympus has you outmatched in financial resources and technology. Yes, your side could do us considerable damage but we'd win! You lost once--if it comes down to it you'd be obliterated this time!"
"I could obliterate you!" Cronos growled.
"Yes, you could age my body to dust," Brad agreed mildly, "but I doubt my lady Rhea would approve of that much dirt on her nice imported Persian Rug! Yes, you could kill my body but you don't have the means to contain my Immortal Spirit! Los Angeles has millions of potential hosts so you'd never know where the final blow came from. Once Zeus told me I was going to meet with you, do you really think I'd come without knowing every financially-vulnerable spot in your empire?"
"Are you threatening me boy?"
Brad just smiled. "Like the MMA Fighter who grabbed the Dentist's balls before he started working on his teeth; `we're not going to HURT each other, are we, Doctor?' No, my Lord Cronos, I have no interest in starting anything with you--but frankly, if you're dumb enough to start something with me I'll be more than happy to finish it!"
"Ooh, he's GOOD!" Metis giggled.
"You're not helping, Niece!" the Lord of the Titans growled.
"She's right though," Brad observed. "Look, my Lord Cronos! I get you're angry about what happened with Zeus but that was five Millennia ago! Hard as it's going to be maybe it's time to let it go and move on!"
"You weren't trapped in Tartarus for all those years boy!"
"No, I wasn't," the young man admitted humbly. "Here's the bottom line my Lord--you aren't in Tartarus now and, play your cards right, you'll never have to go back there! Have you heard the expression `the enemy of my enemy is my friend'? We have a common enemy in the Egyptians! Whether you know it or not, they've been making inroads on your territory, the same way they tried with Olympus!"
"I told him!" Metis informed Brad.
"Together, we're stronger--dare I say unbeatable?" Brad said cheerfully. "If you insist I'll sacrifice my career at UCLA and switch to an online University in the interest of peace! But if you cost me something I value it'll be a cold day in Hell before I EVER help you--and frankly you'll need help when COVID-19 gets here!"
"What's COVID-19?" Cronos was curious in spite of himself.
"It's a Coronavirus that ignites a worldwide Pandemic that harkens back to the Spanish Flu," Brad told him. "Just like the last major plague we're going to have a lack of national leadership and a lot more self-interested snots who aren't willing to do what it takes to flatten the curve."
"Why didn't we know about this earlier?" Cronos asked.
"I have no idea," Brad replied. "Bottom line--I'm telling you now! Decide what, if anything, you intend to do about it!"
The Lord of the Titans turned to Metis. "How would you suggest we proceed, Niece?"
"Olympus has technology and resources we lack," the Mermaid-haired Titan replied. "If I were them I'd be placing an Agent in the region where it starts so they can get a sample and begin working on a vaccine! We don't have the resources to do that, nor do we have the ability to develop a cure if we were able to obtain a sample. They have both!"
"Further," Brad added, "we'd be willing to share with our FRIENDS! COVID-19 won't affect us Gods, but you have a number of mortal employees at risk..."
"I'll consider your offer..." was all Cronos said.
"How long do I have to wait for you to make a decision on whether or not I can stay in Los Angeles?" Brad asked.
"Don't be silly dear!" a new female voice said as another Titaness entered the room. She was taller and more lushly built than Metis and her long hair was red as flame. She wasn't gorgeous by any stretch of the imagination but there was a warm hominess about her that made anyone in her presence comfortable. "Of course you can stay in Los Angeles! Feel free to open your business as well; if Ron is too stupid to commit company resources to help you get off the ground I have a bit of `pin money' I'm happy to invest!"
Brad rose and bowed. "My lady is too kind!" he said sincerely.
"God damnit Rhea! You've always been soft-hearted and soft-headed where the Olympians are concerned! You're not going to do this again!"
"Oh really, husband?" she replied, and her green eyes flashed fire. "How would you like it if I made sure every one of your floozies came up pregnant with a litter? Do you want that Ron? I'm more than willing to make it happen if you annoy me!"
"Damnit woman, I'M THE KING!"
"And I'm merely your wife," she replied with deceptive mildness. "Remember dear heart, it was the girls and I who got us out of Tartarus after you started that needless war with your son Zeus! WE set the Titans up and, if need be, we can shut you down! Trust me Cronos, you DON'T want to cross me on this one!"
"I'm King," Cronos said petulantly. "The decision should be mine!"
"Make the right one then dear," Rhea replied, sounding like a mother scolding a recalcitrant child. "We have had entirely too much `conflict' in this family--enough to last us generations! It stops NOW! Are we clear?"
"Yes dear..." Clearly the power dynamic had shifted among the Titans and Brad wanted to know more but decided to keep his mouth shut for the moment. "I insist Metis work with him though--to insure he's not trying to pull a fast one!"
"I don't have a problem with that," Brad said. "If Zeus does I'll deal with it!"
"Me either!" the mermaid-haired Titaness said. "Who knows? Maybe I can pick up a few tricks along the way!"
"And if you want to fuck Brad, you have my permission!" Rhea said with a smile. "I think he'd be a better bed-mate than some of the trash you bring home!"
"Uh..." was all Brad could manage.
"Well, he is kind of cute!" Cronos agreed, giving the newest Olympian a speculative look.
With the problems with the Titans, hopefully, resolved, Brad met with Metis the next day as the pair looked for a good location for the Los Angeles Branch of Argus Consulting. "So, what did you think of the places we saw this morning?" Brad asked when the pair had settled into a nice beach-side Bistro. "Most everything we saw was--serviceable--but I didn't get a good feeling from any of them!"
"Oh my God," the tall mermaid-haired girl giggled. "You're into vibes?"
"Maybe..." the newest Olympian admitted. "Is it wrong to want to work someplace with a little charm and style?"
"I suppose not," Metis said. "I mean, I'll probably be there more than you in any case."
"True," he agreed. "Unless you want to come up to Seattle occasionally."
"Eew, gross!" she giggled. "Can you imagine how `awkweird' it would be to have to work with whoever happens to hold the Immortal Spirit of my first husband? Thanks, but no thanks!"
"The new Zeus is gay," Brad told her. "AND his ex-wife lives and works on the Island!"
"Now THAT has to be awkward!" Metis said, tossing her hair flirtatiously.
"It's not as bad as you might think," Brad told her. "Jonathan and Catriona Storm decided they were better allies and friends then lovers! So far it seems to be working pretty well for them..."
"Good to know!" the woman said. "Honestly, I let go of Zeus a long time ago; he's been through so many incarnations since we were together I doubt he'd even remember me."
"Does that bother you?"
"Actually, no..." Metis said. "When you've lived as long as I have you learn to let things go! If you don't, you'll eventually become so overburdened with life that you'll crumble under your own weight! If you live long enough it's a trick you'll pick up--especially since your Immortal Spirit keeps laying new lives over the old ones!"
"True," Brad replied. "Still, being on my `first' life I suppose I'm not one to judge... You're Athena's Mother as well, aren't you?"
She nodded. "Not that it counts for much these days," she replied. "SUCH a `Daddy's Girl'! And, no, in case you were wondering, I wasn't turned into a fly that Zeus swallowed and, no, Hephaestus didn't smash his head open so she could pop out full grown! Zeus did say her crying gave him awful headaches though..."
"I'd better not mention that to Athena," Brad decided.
"Probably not."
"Hey!" someone shouted. "There's a whale that beached itself!"
"Oh my!" the mermaid-haired girl said. "I may be the Titaness of Wisdom but I'm the Ocean's daughter! It might be one of my friends!" Metis didn't wait for a response; she simply got up, leapt the short wall and pelted down to the water.
Brad was pleased he'd already paid the check so he slammed down the last of his iced tea and headed for the water. A killer whale had beached itself and was clearly very ill while beachgoers stood around wondering what to do--with two critical exceptions.
Metis was one but the other was a shortish, stocky, square-built man with a good tan, warm brown eyes and a neatly-trimmed beard. His dark brown hair was shaved on one side but allowed to grow long and free-flowing on the other. It was clearly cut that way for some reason and Brad found it oddly intriguing. There was a certain POWER that radiated from the man and Brad knew he was actually speaking to the Whale (and the beast was taking some comfort from this). Here was another stranger that had entered his life but at least Brad knew this man and the hot blonde stalker weren't connected. The only question that remained--who was he?
END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AUTHOR'S NOTES
We begin with yet ANOTHER lap on what is becoming a regular thing here--I'm calling it the "Apologymania 2020" tour. This time it seems I have offended someone most greatly by my comment about the Chinese Gods being responsible for COVID-19. Again, all I can say is that it was done in ignorance rather than intentional insensitivity. I had intended to clarify that in a future chapter (along with solving some other mysteries) that were introduced but I guess I'll be dropping that particular sub-plot: there's nothing that makes me happier than getting a bitchy email before I've had my first cup of coffee. (Yes, that was sarcasm.)
Here's the truth guys--I get "paid" in compliments and criticism. Writing these stories takes time--time I could be doing other things in the Real World. Furthermore, I have an amazing Editorial Staff of four who get paid in nothing but gratitude: these stories are as good as they are because of a lot of time and effort spent in hard work before the finished product is published. Getting slapped around by "Proud Gay Republicans", irate Asians and whoever else I manage to offend with any given chapter doesn't inspire me to keep writing. I'll admit I have a fragile ego but I'm truly not out to denigrate anybody. I may be an older white male but I can empathize with oppressed minorities because I am one. (I am a fat man with "coke bottle" glasses and you'd be surprised what people think they can get away with saying to me; I know that doesn't compare to the Black experience but at least it gives me an inkling so I hope you can give me a little grace here. I am trying to do the same to you.
Shout-out to Michael H who is one of my contest winners a few chapters ago; this is the introduction of the character you created--more from him next chapter! Furthermore, big shout out and a loud "thank you to my crack Editorial Staff, "Rockin'" Robyn, "Marko the Magnificent" (hope you feel better soon buddy!), my grammar-checker extraordinaire "Midwestern" Mark and "Jer-bear". Without your hard work and support these stories wouldn't be nearly as good as they are. I owe y'alll!
Questions, comments, suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM are, still, always welcome. I try to improve with each passing chapter and address whatever concerns you may raise. Drop me a line at HonableRonable@gmail.com or RonVenable@hotmail.com and I WILL reply. Just know, I don't play with idiots well; if you need to "cancel" me over a few lines here and there, don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you! Peace out!
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