The Pantheon Read Online Free Page B

quiver
    and lowered her bow.

    “ We made a mess,” he said, while he was laughing.
    “ Yes, we did,” she agreed with satisfaction.
    The golden-haired man looked up at his sister,
    alive with the hunt.

    She looked back with identical eyes and then
    she, too, began to laugh at what they had done.
    “ That should teach them,” he said with finality.
    His sister nodded.

    “ At least,” she said, stepping over crisp corpses--
    The irony did not escape either wit--
    “ They won’t ever insult our mother again.”
    That fact was certain.

“ It is an ill thing to be the first to bring news of ill.”
    -Aeschylus

    III.

    Jason Livingstone sat at his desk that Friday, staring at his calendar and wondering how he was going to accomplish everything that needed to be done. He had completely forgotten that Haley, his oldest and only daughter, had a sleepover birthday party to go to. The present was at home in his closet, yet unwrapped. Jason also knew he needed groceries, badly. On top of that, the twins, James and Scott, were having a sleepover at their grandmother’s. It would be a relief when he could sit down that evening with a cold beer and watch Law and Order reruns. He just had to get through the next few hours.
    The bell was set to ring in twenty minutes. Now the waiting was driving him mad. He had so much to do and he was stuck behind a desk. Most students didn’t bother to come into the nurse’s office this time of day. It was a waste of a good sick excuse to go home so late in the afternoon.
    The door at the end of the resting room opened. Jason looked up from his calendar. Standing in the doorway was Olympia Heights Senior High’s self-proclaimed rock star, Astin Hill. Astin had wavy blonde hair and sun-kissed skin. He dressed in boot cut brown corduroys and t-shirts of bands like the White Stripes and the Wombats.
    Every high school had a band, a group of kids moderately talented with their instruments, which changed their band name once a month, and wrote cliché lyrics. They played birthday parties and talent shows but never had a real gig, or a paying gig, or any exposure greater than two hits a day on their Myspace.
    That band usually was followed by a flock of girls that didn’t quite fit in and thought they were too cool for their school. Their other biggest fan was usually an entirely non-talented friend who set himself up as their “manager” and served no purpose other than to mock-up poorly designed posters when they changed their name.
    This band bounced between pretentious names derived from quotations they skimmed in English class, to pop culture references, to crude potty humor. One week they might be The Mortal Fools, and the next they would be calling themselves Dog Fart.
    The difference with this band, which this week was named The Swedish Fish, was that Astin was unreasonably talented. He wrote their music and played lead guitar and under his leadership their band actually played at local restaurants and town events.
    Their local fans were still mostly girls who thought they were far too mature for the musical tastes of their peers, but their online following was growing surprisingly strong.
    While Astin adored the pretentious names, he had the power to veto it when their drummer had suggested they change their name to a crude French translation of a phrase not safe to type into a search engine.
    Astin’s band was good. At least he was good, and the others played their instruments well enough to not detract from the quality of his work.
    Astin had his hands in his pockets, his leather backpack hanging off one shoulder. A pair of aviator sunglasses hung off of his shirt, waiting for the final bell when he would slip them on again.
    “ Mr. Hill,” Jason said, glad for a distraction to pass the time. “What can I do for you?”
    “ I uh... I have...” Astin dropped his voice as he approached the desk. “I have a rash.”
    Jason tried not to smile. Once in a while he got this kind