man who lured me—so luscious and desirable, a princess in her prime—into his arms. He was smooth all right, but I should have stayed on guard.
For my naïveté I got a knife in the back, along with a quick taste of his lusty lips. While dying a slow and torturous death, my only solace was knowing that someone—a bloodthirsty uncle, perhaps—would avenge me in the old way.
But no!
Athena came down from her mountain on her high horse and read them the riot act: No more vengeance. Let’s all join hands and sing the ancient version of “Kumbaya.” Let’s have peace among enemies, invite lions to lie down with lambs.
So because of Athena’s meddling, no one picked up a vial of poison on my behalf. Both sides buried the hatchet—right into my eternal rest.
With no one to avenge me, I wandered alone in a hot, stuffy, miserable netherworld humming the same song over and over. I kept at it until they finally heard me. One hundred and eight notes until they could no longer ignore my misery. My righteous need for vengeance woke them out of their deep sleep.
They came and licked at my wounds, fed themselves on the injustice, and drank up the unfairness of my unavenged, unmourned, unsanctified death. They drove my princely killer stark, raving mad.
Only my killer had a son, and as soon as that spawn of my enemy hit puberty he lost his baby fat and got the same princely profile and curly hair—the spitting image in killer smile and killer instinct of his father.
I could not get him out of my head. The knowledge that he breathed robbed me of my long-deserved peace. I summoned up my next batch of Furies and sent them off to work.
I was dead and deadly.
Only then came a son of this son, followed by a son of that son and soon a son of a son of a son—each of them a son of a bitch with thick hair and great cheekbones. All these grandsons and uncles and cousins many times removed, all of them good-looking, popular princes.
I dispatch them now whenever I can, whenever the stars and human suffering allow my Furies free rein.
I set aside a section of my book for a history of these joyous events that ease my rage, at least temporarily. My successes cluster around certain historical eras. I need the worst of times to spark the awakening of the Furies.
Now is such a time. There’s so much anger, fear, hostility, greed, wars, corruption, racism, genocide, fraud, assassinations, vice in the highest and lowest places, oil spills turning the oceans into slippery graveyards. Just driving on a crowded freeway and listening to the hostility of blaring horns sends my spirits soaring.
In pencil I’ve added my newest target. This scion of a scion of a scion, dark-haired and handsome, and as despicable to me as all the others.
This prince. This Brendon. This Prince of the Plagues.
Arise, my furious ones. Don’t let Athena and her teacher’s pet with the fiddle seduce you. Ignore their offers of a warm bed and a cool head. Cast off all of their tempting poppies of Hypnos.
Stay awake!
THIRD STASIMON, THE BOOK OF FURIOUS
19
“Are you sure I won’t kill myself?”
“Naw. This is the beginner’s break.”
“But I’m a wimp. And a klutz.”
Alix spreads her arms, throws back her head, and makes a dramatic motion of appreciation to the sky, which is cloudless and blue, an increasingly rare sight lately.
“Perfect conditions today. Warm. Actual sun. Surf’s as smooth as glass. So don’t sweat it. No fear when the Big Kahuna Alecto has got your back.”
What was I thinking? Why did I confess to Alix that I envy her fearlessness in the water? Why did I tell her that I stand on the cliff and fantasize about riding waves? Why did I let her talk me into taking my first surfing lesson?
We’re standing by a set of steps that lead down to the ocean. As I gnaw nervously on my upper lip, I taste the thick layer of coconut sunscreen that I smeared everywhere. Two of Alix’s surfboards are propped against the railing. This isn’t the famous surf spot with the terrifying walls of water. That’s about a quarter mile up the coast. We’re taking on a far easier break known for its gentle and uniform waves, the place in town where everyone first learns to surf.
I peer over the railing, relieved to see that the waves are hardly cresting above the waist and there’s