The Demigod Diaries (The Heroes of Olympus)(50)

How was Claymore supposed to make a difference now? How could a middle-aged man with no special powers even start to affect a world of gods and monsters?

His old life seemed meaningless—his deadlines, his book signings. That life had melted along with his laptop in Black’s Coffee. Would this new world even have a place for a mortal like him?

Alabaster led him up the stairs and into a small bedroom. The walls were covered in the same green runes that were on Alabaster’s clothing. All of them glowed to life as he walked inside and picked up the notebook from his nightstand.

“This is a shorthand incantation,” he explained. “I’m sure it will work. It has to!”

The boy turned toward Claymore, who was waiting at the door. Alabaster’s smile melted. His expression changed to horror.

A split second later Claymore realized why. Cold claws pricked against the back of his neck. Lamia’s voice crackled next to his ear.

“If you speak one word of that incantation, I’ll kill him,” Lamia threatened. “Drop the book, and perhaps I’ll spare his life.”

Claymore stared at the boy, expecting him to read the spell anyway, but like an idiot, he dropped the book.

“What are you doing?” Claymore growled. “Read the spell!”

Alabaster was frozen, like a thousand people were looking at him. “I—I can’t.…She’ll—”

“Don’t think about me!” Claymore yelled, as Lamia dug her claws deeper into his neck.

Then she whispered by his ear: “Incantare: Templum Incendere.”

The book at Alabaster’s feet burst into flame.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Claymore roared at the boy. “You’re smarter than that, Alabaster! If you don’t read that spell, you will die too!”

A tear traced its way down Alabaster’s cheek. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want anyone else to die because of me. I led my siblings to their deaths!”

Claymore scowled. Could the boy not see the book burning?

Lamia cackled as the notebook’s cover curled to ashes. The pages wouldn’t last much longer. There was no time to convince the thickheaded boy. Claymore would have to spur him into action.

“Alabaster…what happens when we die?”

“Stop saying that!” Alabaster screamed. “You’re going to be fine!”

But Claymore just shook his head. He was the only thing keeping Alabaster from reading the book, so the path he had to take was clear. He had to destroy the last obstacle in Alabaster’s way.

To avenge Burly, to save this one child from the gods, he knew what he had to do.

“Alabaster, you told me earlier that heroes don’t die. You may be right, but I can tell you one thing.” Claymore looked the boy in the eyes. “I’m not a hero.”

With that Claymore pushed back against Lamia. They both tumbled into the hall. Claymore turned and tried to grapple with the monster, hoping to buy Alabaster a few seconds, but he knew he couldn’t win this fight.

Alabaster’s horrified scream reached him from far away. Then he was drifting, drifting into another world. Death’s cold hand wrapped around Howard Claymore like an icy prison.

There was no ferryman for him, not even a boat. He was dragged through the bone-chilling water of the Styx, pulled toward whatever punishment awaited him for the life that he had led.

He could try to claim he was a man of pure motives, trying to preach sense to the world, but even he knew that wasn’t the truth. He had dismissed the mere idea of gods and been dismissive of anyone who worshipped one. They all had been just a laugh to him—but if he’d learned anything from the last six hours, it was that these gods didn’t have a sense of humor.

Pity was, he thought to himself as he was pulled through the icy current, if Alabaster wasn’t an enemy of the gods, Claymore might have been received as a hero for saving the boy’s life.

But fate had a different plan for him. When he was facing his judgment, he would also have to be punished for aiding a traitor.

It was ironic, really.…He had died doing a good thing, but he might be sentenced to an eternity in darkness. This had been his fear from childhood, dying and being rejected by heaven.

Of course, even as he floated through the frigid waters, he had a smile on his face.

The fact that Alabaster wasn’t making this journey with him told him one thing: Lamia hadn’t killed the boy. Without a hostage holding him back, surely Alabaster would have read the spell out of pure rage and defeated Lamia.

And that was enough to make Claymore content, no matter what punishment the gods decided on.

He’d have the last laugh now, and for the rest of eternity.

But, surprisingly, fate didn’t play out that way. Above him in the darkness, a light glimmered, growing brighter and warmer. A hand reached down to him—a woman’s hand reached out to him through the darkness. Being a logical man, he did the logical thing. He took it.

Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that he was in a church. Not the glistening holy church of heaven, but one that had fallen into disrepair. It was the same filthy, dust-covered chapel that he had seen in his dreams. And praying at the altar was the young woman in ceremonial clothing—Alabaster’s mom, the goddess Hecate.

“I suppose you’re waiting for me to thank you,” Claymore said. “For saving my life, that is.”