Date: Mon, 29 Nov 2021 09:13:00 -0500 From: Rick Heathen Subject: Centaurian - Chapter 2 Centaurian - Chapter 2 I wrote this story for Nifty, a nifty site if there ever was one. Nifty needs your donations to host this work, and some works, no doubt, that are far better. If you enjoy Nifty, please, consider donating at donate.nifty.org/donate.html This work is the sole property of the author and may not be reprinted or reused without his written permission. All Rights Reserved, Copyright 2021, Rick Haydn Horst This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Thank you for delving into this work; I hope you enjoy it. Please send questions, comments, or complaints to Rick.Heathen@gmail.com. I would enjoy reading what you have to say. ------------ Synopis: When an unusual man comes into the protection of Officer Liam Phillips, Liam doesn't know what he's in for. His world gets broadened and turned upside down in this adventure of love, sex, gods, a one-quarter equine, and a vacation he will never forget. ------------ Centaurian, By Rick Haydn Horst Chapter 2 7:50 PM, June 21st The jet began to shudder and shake. "Mr. Adrianus," said the flight attendant, "we are experiencing some turbulence. May I stow your bag for you, sir?" She stood over him, the only flight attendant on the private Lear jet, wearing her red uniform and pillbox hat, performing her job as anyone should expect. They had only an hour left of the flight, and the bag in question lay in the window seat beside him. He rested his hand upon it, knowing it contained the dagger given to him by the woman who called herself Happiness, so he felt protective and defensive of it. "This is the second time you have asked me during this flight," he said, "so for the last time, no, and if you ask me once more, I will fire you." "I'm sorry, sir, I'm merely trying to keep you safe." Adrianus gazed up at her, laughed a little with a slight shake of his head. He turned his attention out the window to the sunlit clouds during that last hour before sunset, he recalled years earlier during one of the many times he killed himself off. While on a solo flight, he allowed himself to endure a plane crash, having left all his money to a nonexistent son whose identity he would assume, so he could eventually claim it. By her reflection in the window, he could see the flight attendant hadn't left his side, he raised the crystal lowball glass in his hand to her. "Just pour me another." He had watched the 4K video on the tablet several times. What he found so ironic and galling is that Henri believed he outlived his child, and yet, hundreds of years later, there he sat on a private jet headed to Miami. Over time, he had evolved into the perfect model of a man both lonely and friendless, who had just outlived the father he never knew, while this Ronan person, who Henri knew only a few years, had received all the love and companionship that should have come to Adrianus by birth. He knew Ronan carried no fault for that, but he hated him for it anyway. In the video, the fire passed from his father to Ronan, after which, Adrianus saw his father fall to ash and the skinny young man lying there for the entire night in that awkward position, undisturbed, unconscious, and unmoving. The next morning, as the sun began to rise and the light level increased enough to see, it showed that Ronan had never moved, but he appeared different from the man his father had placed onto the ground the previous evening. No longer skinny, his body had swollen with muscle, and he seemed taller. A few minutes before eight that morning, a female jogger of about thirty, dressed in running tights and a t-shirt came upon the man. She pulled the earbuds from her ears when she stopped. Sounding disgusted, she said, "Oh no, another drunk." Bending over him a little, she gave his body a closer inspection. "My god, it's the man from Nantucket." She knocked at Ronan's leg with her running shoe. "Hey, you can't stay here. Get up and move along, will you?" He never moved, so she shook her head in dismay and called the police. She noticed something off-camera, retrieved it, and tried to cover the man's genitals by scooping them up with the red solo cup she found, but it refused to stay put. With her hand, she pushed down on the cup and attempted to wedge it into place by moving him into an even more awkward position with her foot. A few minutes later two other people loomed over the man, and not long after that, a policeman arrived driving an olive-colored Jeep. Adrianus noted the license plate, and given an opportune moment, the video had the officer at the perfect angle. He zoomed in and could easily read his name tag, L. Phillips, and his sleeve had a patch stitched with the words The Village of Key Biscayne. He concluded, by the officer's concern, he most likely drove him to a hospital. He made an online search and based on the distance, Mercy Hospital seemed most likely, so Adrianus would start there when he could talk to the morning shift. Thinking of killing the man on the video with his own hands, he thought, "I'm too wealthy to kill someone myself. That's what money is for!" He couldn't imagine any hitman agreeing to use the dagger when they probably had their preferred methods, and he wouldn't know how to acquire a hitman anyway, not that that would present the greatest complication. He accepted what the woman had told him with relative ease because he had lived for hundreds of years. He couldn't imagine how a mortal not already exposed to anything otherworldly would view the dagger given to him by the woman. He gazed into his glass and stared transfixed at the single transparent sphere of ice that chilled his drink and the light fog that had settled over his whisky. After the woman had vanished from his office, he studied the dagger. The metal of its handle and scabbard he had never seen before, but the curiousness of it paled when he unsheathed it. He beheld a transparent blade whose subtle vaporous wisps from the sharpened edges and pointed tip vanished into the air around it, manifesting its ethereal nature. Waking from his thoughts, he asked himself, "What sort of magic is this?" He lifted the drink the flight attendant had brought him to his mouth and downed it in one gulp, but the thirst of his anxiety remained parched, and he demanded another. ------- The aptly named lucky fox, Felix Raposo, worked as a bellhop at the luxury boutique hotel on Miami Beach called The Cerulean Sea Hotel and Spa. He had worked there for a year, and not once had anyone mentioned the little side-hustle he had going with the owner/night manager, Mr. Moreno, who covered for him. The handsome nineteen-year-old of Puerto Rican descent took pride in his considerable abilities and the unblemished, sienna-skinned body that displayed the virile athleticism for which he was known. And by word of mouth alone, new clients gathered to him faster than he could ever have imagined. Monday through Thursday, he could count on having one client a night---two at most. However, from Friday at check-in through Monday morning at checkout, he could have a dozen clients, and many of them stayed at the hotel just for an experience that only Felix seemed capable of providing. One such client, the math teacher from a local middle school, learned that his best friend, the teacher of English Literature, hadn't exaggerated in his assessment of him, rewriting and repurposing a famous Shakespearean quote from Hamlet, "What a piece of work is Felix. How solicitous in spirit. How seductive in speech. In form and movement, how capable and confident. In action, how like a lord. And in pleasure, how like a god." With the math teacher both contented and fast asleep, Felix took a quick shower, redressed in his cream-colored uniform, pocketed the money left for him on the table by the television, and quietly closed the door behind him. In the elevator to the lobby, he counted the cash and tucked half of it into his wallet. The other half he held in his hand to slip to the owner who crammed it into his pocket before anyone noticed. Mr. Moreno was not Felix's pimp. They had a reciprocal arrangement. Mr. Moreno pretended to hire him as a bellhop, and that allowed Felix to hire Mr. Moreno to cover for him with other employees while taking care of a client rather than taking care of someone's baggage. Unlike some boutique hotels, The Cerulean Sea Hotel was not a Dadaist's dream, nor one that, upon entry, screamed MIAMI in a pastel nightmare of neon capital lettering. The Cerulean Sea Hotel had a nature-based decor both stylish and timeless with a serene atmosphere. The lobby's contemporary modern furniture, based on tried-and-true styles, sat atop mottled, latte-colored marble slabs for flooring. But the spectacle of the monolithic black granite check-in desk with its gravity-defying cantilevered design overshadowed all else. Standing at the sandstone Bellhop-wall that evening, Felix watched a limousine drive beneath the covered drop-off. He walked to the entrance and when the door attendant opened the car door, a late 20-something man wearing a coal-colored Armani suit exited the vehicle, and he shouldered the satchel he carried. "May I take your bag, sir?" The man gripped the strap more tightly. "Just the one in the back." The driver had opened the trunk and Felix reached to grab the handle. It was a piece built in an antique style with no wheels, so he knew he would carry it to the man's room. He stood at a respectful distance while he checked in. "My name is Elias Adrianus, and I have a reservation," he said to the night manager. "Ah, Mr. Adrianus, it's good to have you with us," said Moreno checking the computer. "I see you have a terrace suite which you will find at the top, on the 12th floor." He fingered the credit card Adrianus dropped onto the polished-granite counter for incidentals. "What time does the bar close?" "It closes at 2 AM, sir." When Adrianus returned the credit card to his wallet, he noticed a pale pink business card there he couldn't remember acquiring and wasn't there a moment ago. It read, "You don't need a drink. Wink at the bellhop and let him take care of you" signed "Happiness". His insides stiffened, and his hands shook in agitation as he slid it into the wallet alongside the credit card. "Here are your key cards, sir," said Moreno, "and if you like, Felix can take you in your suite." Adrianus blinked and looked at the night manager in astonishment. "What did you say?" "I said, if you like, Felix can take you to your suite. Have a goodnight, sir." "Right...goodnight." He turned and raked his eyes over Felix, thinking how he certainly was a handsome young man---"young" being the operable term, especially compared to his 970 years. They entered the elevator and the moment the doors closed, Adrianus asked, "Is it true that if I wink at you, you'll take care of me?" He gazed upon Felix awaiting his answer. "Do you need taken-care-of, sir?" "Someone believes that I do, apparently. I've never been taken-care-of by a man before." The lift doors opened to a short cream-wallpapered hallway. They walked to the back corner room. He held the key to the card reader, the door unlocked, and they stepped inside. The 12th floor consisted of four duplicate terrace suites. A palette of medium and light-colored earth tones filled the enormous room on every wall and surface. It had a kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and a king-sized bed sat before a wall of windows that one could pull back, allowing the terrace---which overlooked the ocean---to blend into the living space. Felix unfolded the suitcase stand from the closet and laid the case upon it. When he turned around, Adrianus stared at him. "Who referred you to me?" asked Felix in his lovely Latin accent in his smooth masculine voice. "I have many clients, and they're all referrals." "A woman named Happiness if you can believe it. Clients... So, you charge for your services?" He removed his hat and tossed it on the table beside him and spoke in a slow, comfortable way that demonstrated his confidence. "Would you expect to enjoy the Bolshoi or Vienna's philharmonic for free?" He stepped within a foot of him, and stared, without deviation, into the unblinking eyes of Adrianus. "They have dedicated themselves to their artistry, and that requires time and effort. What I do is as consuming and just as artistic, but the dance is far more intimate and the instrument much more beautiful." "And just what is the instrument?" asked Adrianus, whispering. "Do you make a living playing people like a fiddle?" He drew closer and Adrianus never backed away. Felix made a rapid glance to his lips, and another, as they came together. "If so, I would play you as one would a Stradivarius, and I assure you, you will want an encore." Felix kissed him, and his innate sensuality had an alluring, forbidden, seductive power over Adrianus. In all his years, he had never met anyone like Felix. Adrianus couldn't imagine why he would allow himself to have sex with the man, but he didn't care. Lost in the moment, he needed what Felix had to offer, and he had it in abundance. By the time they were on the bed naked, Felix had Adrianus's cock in his mouth making love to it, and Adrianus had Felix's in his face. At about 9-inches with a slight upward curve, soft skin, and perfectly hooded, it was the most elegant-looking one he had ever seen. He tasted the clear liquid that flowed from the tip, and he enjoyed its unique flavor. He covered the entire end with his mouth and imitated the motions that Felix used to pleasure him. After about 15 minutes, Felix stopped, turned Adrianus onto his stomach, and lay atop him. "I've never done this," said Adrianus. Kissing his ear, Felix rubbed his length along the cleft of his ass. "Shhh...," he whispered into his ear and continued with the musical metaphor. "Your instrument is in the hands of a virtuoso. I will warm you before the violin bow touches your strings, and while you are only one instrument, when the music starts you will feel an entire symphony, and I promise, you will not want the concert to end." Felix enjoyed doing what he knew he did best, plucking a man's cherry as he plucked his strings to pleasure him. After sliding down his back, he planted his tongue onto his tight pucker, and the more he ate his ass the more the man moaned, arched his back, and relaxed. Once he wet him well, he stopped. "That was amazing," said Adrianus. "The music hasn't even started. Just allow your body to relax and feel." He moved upward and rubbed his wet, leaking knob against the opening. Felix kept an erection with no difficulty, and unlike some men with no patience who think pain is always involved the first time, he pushed and pulled at a slow incremental pace, taking many minutes to fully enter him, and the man felt no pain, just steady internal pressure. Once fully inside him, he knew he had leaked enough precum to wet him well, so he said, "And now we begin." He pulled back slowly and began to thrust in longer and longer strokes. Adrianus had squirmed beneath him, moaning, and making sounds that told Felix he enjoyed it. Before long, he began long-stroking him, and then he varied the length of the stroke and the intensity. Along with a heavy breath, a series of mostly unintelligible words poured in a pleasure-filled stream from Adrianus's mouth as he writhed under him for just over an hour, some of which he repeated. [Oh. Felix. Yes. More. So good. Don't stop. Oh my god.] When Felix felt the tight squeeze of his cock in a series of rhythmic contractions, he knew the man had an orgasm. When it ended Felix slowed, slid himself deep inside the man, lay atop him, and brought his mouth to his ear. "I wrote that piece just for you. I hope you enjoyed it." Every few seconds, Felix pulled back a little and slid into him again. "It was beautiful." Adrianus laughed, having almost forgotten what it was like to feel happy. "Felix, there is no other word for you; you are magnificent. I had no idea that could feel so incredible." He turned his head and kissed him. "Can you stay with me tonight? I will understand if you can't, but I would love for you to stay." "I can stay," he said and kissed him. "Will you play that song again?" "I can play it as often as you like." And once again, Felix began to saw his violin bow against the man's Stradivarian strings, playing an exquisite melody that vibrated throughout the man's body, but only Felix heard the music as the instrument vocalized his pleasure. ------- June 22nd Wearing a soft pair of tan pull-on cotton shorts and a white t-shirt, Phillips had kept an eye on Stallion the previous evening, watching him grow slow enough to find it on par with the speed at which paint dries. So, while he could have more interest in Stallion than drying paint, the passing hours caused the act of remaining conscious too heavy a burden. A foggy haze had drawn his mind ever deeper into a need for slumber with eyes that wouldn't stay open or focused, and just before he faded for the evening, he had laid his hand on Stallion's arm, semiconsciously thinking that would be enough. Having deactivated the alarm on his phone the night before, Phillips awoke the next morning at 8 o'clock, and the first thing he noticed was a muscular arm over him and the realization that Stallion was spooning him. He backed away a little as he turned over. The color of the man's slightly tousled midnight-brown hair began a theme for all the rest as Liam's eyes took in what he could see of him. Thick, dark lashes surrounded the depth of his kind and fully awake, cognac-colored eyes. His prominent jaw held a well-kempt beard, and his pectorals, densely packed with an armor of muscle, had a hairy covering across their broadness and in the deep crevice between them which spilled down his abdominals and disappeared under the covers. Gauntlets of hair on his forearms faded at the elbow on their way to his cannonball biceps with their mountainous peaks leading to shoulders so thick and meaty, it looked like he could easily give Atlas a break for a long liquid lunch. The godlike man gazed in benevolence and smiled upon Phillips for the first time. "Ah, that's what you look like." "How long have you lain awake?" Phillips couldn't recall a time when a man that beautiful ever shared his bed. "I'm not sure, you don't have a regular clock." He stopped smiling for a moment and spoke in seriousness. "Thank you for protecting me, cleaning me up, and not giving me the silent treatment." "Oh, so you could hear me, good. Just who and what are you?" he asked in apprehension. "Since you're my protector, I owe you an explanation, but apart from my name, all the rest is between you and me. Okay? "Okay..." "My name is Ronan Stallion. I am Centaurian. To put it simply, I am part who I was and part life essence of Chiron the Centaur, bound by an eternal fire gifted by Prometheus." Phillips nodded. "Of course, and if given a few more waking hours, I could have figured that out all on my own." Ronan laughed a little. "I want you to know that I'm not here to harm anyone, but you intuitively know that; don't you?" "I don't know how, but yes, somehow, I know that. Why are you here?" "Zeus held Prometheus captive and horrifically tortured him. So, in an act of empathy, when a particular situation occurred with a centaur named Chiron, he gave up his immortality to set Prometheus free. Prometheus, the prescient and skillful thief that he is, felt grateful and captured Chiron's essence in an eternal flame, and then hid it from the Olympians inside the first of us, a Neo-Centaurian he named Epivítoras; that's Greek for Stallion. After one thousand years Chiron and the fire must transfer to someone of the current Centaurian's choosing. The millenniums passed and after Epivitoras came Hrb'eh (That is Hebrew for Stallion), then came Admissarius (that is Latin for Stallion), and then my friend Henri Estalon (Estalon is old French for Stallion), and now there's me. I exist to give Chiron a kind of life that he would otherwise have lost. Prometheus saw that Chiron was too special to lose and his life too precious. However, what Prometheus did, no one had ever done, and he created something far more that has no name." "What is the more?" "It had given us a power that the others were too afraid to tap into, and I can see why." Ronan tipped his head in curiosity. "You're taking all this rather easily." "After everything I've witnessed so far, you could have told me you were from a planet around Alpha Centauri, and I would have believed you. What have you done since you awoke?" "Meditate and cuddle with you, which was lovely, by the way. So, should I call you Liam, Phillips, or would you want to keep it professional and have me call you Officer?" "You steal cuddles, and NOW you ask whether I want to keep it professional?" Ronan laughed. "Actually, YOU cuddled up to ME in your sleep and held my dick in your hand most of the night, but you slept so soundly, I hadn't wanted to awaken you." Liam laid back on the pillow, covered his face with his hands, and laughed. "I'm so sorry! That's embarrassing. Please, call me Liam." He thought about the strangeness of it all. "I don't really know you; why do I trust you so much?" "Because you want to. And you already know why you want to." They sat there staring at one another for a long moment. "Yeah," whispered Liam. "I guess I do." He took a deep breath. "So, do you know what you look like, or are you just as curious as me?" "I'm pretty curious myself." Liam left the bed and opened his closet door which had a mirror on the back. Ronan moved to the side of the bed, and Phillips could see the hair trailing off the bottom of an extraordinary eight-pack of abdominals, but when he pulled the covers away to stand, he could see the hair covering each proportionally muscular leg to a distinct line just beneath his iliac furrow and down the crevice between the leg and the groin area. He stood slowly to his full height and looked down at himself. He had no pubic hair or hair on his penis and scrotum at all. And the tattoo on his oblique had finished; it was of a centaur. Ronan hefted the smooth, foot-long hunk of flaccid meat in his hand. "Henri told me it would be centaur-like, but I had no idea. And not being a full centaur, I can't pull this back into my body." Liam stared at it in disbelief. "Just so you know, I have expertise as a snake wrangler." Ronan's forehead furrowed. "Are you really a snake wrangler?" "In my time as a police officer, I've caught and relocated quite a few snakes. Many of the guys won't do it, so they tend to call me. I'm certainly not afraid of your python, and I can think of a few choice locations to put it." "Is it not too big?" Liam slowly shook his head staring at it. "It's perfect." "It doesn't bother you that I'm part centaur?" Liam shrugged. "What part of you is really centaur? You're just the most beautiful man I've ever seen." "I appreciate your saying that. In this form, physiologically, I'm human in appearance, but I am half Chiron, and he was half equine. That makes me one-fourth equine, but just as a flame can change its shape, I can change form to a kind of bipedal centaur, like a satyr or faun." "I would love to see you change shape." "That's part of the more that I talked about, and from Chiron's memories, I know that the first time tapping into that power comes with a serious irreversible consequence. It was a line the others would not cross. I see now why Henri couldn't tell me about it." "Why couldn't he?" "They could never tell because the knowledge of it could make agreeing to replace them too alluring for power-hungry people or make the idea of having access to such a power too aversive for most anyone good." "What kind of power is it?" "A power too strong to contemplate and too terrifying to wield lightly. That's all I can say." "I see. Hold on a sec..." He retrieved the scales from his bathroom and set them in front of the mirror. "You want to guess?" asked Ronan. He looked Ronan up and down. "Mmm...270." He stepped onto the scales, and it read 275 pounds. "I would have guessed it perfectly, but I forgot to take into account the 5 pounds of Centaurian appendage." "Well, it's close enough without going over, right?" He stepped off the scales and slid them to the side. "I'm so huge. I weigh about forty pounds more than I expected, so that's Chiron's doing. He hadn't done that with the others, but I have no memory for why he would choose that on this occasion." As Ronan faced the mirror, Liam could see the completed STALLION tattoo, shoulder to shoulder, and the hairless skin of his wide back, but the thick dark hair covering his legs and buttocks began with a distinct line from the iliac furrow at his sides toward the sacrum at his spine. On anyone else, it would appear too perfect to be natural, but on Ronan, it must be. "Did you intend your body hair to be like that? You have no pubic hair. "It's because I'm part centaur. From what I could tell, Henri was the same way. In the front, as a full centaur, where my pubic hair would begin is a transition point, where the equine part of me would have pectorals and the penis would be toward the back, so since I'm not fully centaur, it left off what would have been my pubic hair." He looked himself in the mirror. "I think I like it. So, how tall do you think I am?" "Umm...I would say you look about 19 and a half hands high." Ronan laughed to himself and did some quick math. "So, 6 feet 6 inches." He turned to Liam. "I want you to know that I appreciate the help you've given me, and if you want to stop helping me at any point for any reason, it's okay. I will understand." "I will help you for as long as your needs coincide with my ability." "That's kind of you, thank you." "I need breakfast," said Phillips. "Are you hungry?" "Well..." "You do eat, right?" "I can, but I only look human. I don't have to sleep, or eat, or drink, or go to the bathroom. I don't even have to breathe or blink my eyes. Apparently, some habits are just too integrated to break, but I needed to simulate breathing so I can speak like you do. Can you cope with that thought?" "But you have a heartbeat, a readable blood pressure, and a normal body temperature." "Those are real but simulated, and they serve a purpose. Those things are for me, not for others. People don't realize it because they've had it for a lifetime, but if suddenly you were alive without a relatively stable, normal body temperature, or had no sensation of a heartbeat and the ability to passively sense the blood coursing through you, you would not be able to tolerate the silence of your own body; it would be maddening. It would be like you were dead, but not dead." Liam placed his hand on his chest. "Am I sensing the blood coursing through me?" "You may not realize you sense it, but if it suddenly stopped, you would recognize its absence immediately. So, can you cope with how I am?" Ronan stood for almost a minute while watching Liam scan his every feature and movement. "Those things don't matter to me. I just know that the opportunity to remain in your company would please me enormously. Let's make your Centaurian appendage street-legal, we'll drop by my favorite smoothie place, and then we'll find you some clothing that actually fits." "I need to meet up with a friend. He has my money, identification, and other necessities." "Who? And how can you have identification? You just came into existence yesterday." "I met him through Prometheus. He's quite adept at making identification, and whatever else I might need that isn't quite on the up and up." "It's illegal?" "What do you expect, Liam? I can't just trot off to the DMV and ask for a driver's license." "I understand that, but I'm a police officer!" "If I ever abuse it, you're welcome to arrest me. I promise not to buy alcohol for anyone underage." "Did you have a driver's license in your previous life?" "I don't know; I'm sure I did." "How can you not know?" "Because those memories are gone now." "You have no memories of your life before? Why?" "They would intrude and hinder my ability to accept who I am now. But don't worry, if you ran the IDs, you would discover they're completely legal." "How can that be?" "Because Dolos is thorough." "So, they're registered." Liam walked into his closet. "This, I will have to see." He brought out the navy and black pair of "long shorts" he had on him the day before. "I washed this yesterday afternoon along with everything else. They're mediums, but the elastic is pretty forgiving." "What about underwear to rein in the Centaurian appendage?" "I have nothing that would fit you. This will have to do until we get something more appropriate." "What will we do, go to a discount store?" "We could, but I know of a store that's perfect for your needs." Ronan had slipped a leg into the shorts. "It's not some equestrian tack shop, is it? Because I'll tell you right now, this stallion will not be broken." "No, smarty pants, it's a proper clothing store. I've shopped there for myself many times." He popped a few stitches squeezing them over his hips and muscular ass, but once he had they slid right on. "Those shorts aren't supposed to fit tight, but they look fine that they do. I told you that you had a major bootie. If the store I have in mind doesn't work, we'll just go to a sporting goods store, but I want to avoid that if we can." "It would be a good place to buy a jockstrap." "You'll never find one with a stallion-sized pouch. The store I have in mind sells underwear from the only company I know that caters to the undergirding needs of the...aah...supportively challenged. So, trust me on this, I know what I'm doing. Where will we meet this friend? Do you need to contact them and set up a time?" "I just have to be outdoors, say his name, and he'll show up." "Really?" "Dolos is a god. He'll hear me." "A god...like Zeus and Apollo." "Dolos isn't one of the Olympians. He's the son of a much older deity." "I see, so he's Old Money. Well, whatever you decide, don't call his name downstairs in the parking lot. Mrs. Novak in apartment 3 has a terminal case of Gladys Kravitz syndrome." Liam dug into a drawer for an `A'-shirt and found a white one. "Here, try this on. It says it's large, but it's oversized on me, so it might fit, but no guarantees. I may have to cut it, and that's fine; I have plenty." Slipping it over his head, Liam helped pull it down, but they could hear several popping threads, and even then, the seams around the neck and arms were too tight. "Hold on, let me get the scissors." He returned with a pair from the kitchen. Sliding the scissor blade between his pecs, he cut the middle of the collar several inches, and under each arm on the sides to split the seams. After that, it fit fine for the time being. "I look like shit in this, don't I?" Ronan asked. "Are you kidding? You could make bin bags look sexy." He gave him the pair of house shoes to wear. They barely fit, but he could wear them for a while. Liam wore a pair of tan linen shorts with a sky-blue `A'-shirt beneath a white short-sleeve button-up left untucked and open. The moment Ronan stood in the breezeway outside Liam's door, he looked around and saw that no one could see. "Dolos," he said, and down the staircase from above came a bearded and swarthy-looking man in his thirties wearing a white suit holding two 40-liter-sized traditional duffel bags in leather, one in black and one in brown. Ronan waved him into the apartment and closed the door behind him. "Hello, Ronan," said Dolos. "I've been wandering around Miami. I see why Henri wanted to live here." "Liam Phillips, please meet Dolos, the god of trickery and deception. Dolos, this is Liam, my friend and protector." "Pleased to meet you," said Liam. "Any friend of Ronan's is a friend of mine," said Dolos who squinted at Ronan looking him up and down. "What are you wearing?" "We are making do with what we have." "Making do..." Dolos laughed and shook his head. "Here..." He gave Ronan the brown bag which had a Centaurian archer embossed into a leather tag stitched onto the side. "It has everything Henri asked me to hold for you, and it has everything you needed of me, including clothing. So, you can change out of that embarrassment before anyone else sees you. And Liam, although your attire is a marginal improvement, this is for you. It has everything you could want or need. Don't thank me now, wait until you've browsed its contents and THEN thank me. I will hear you. "You know, Ronan," said Dolos, "Prometheus could easily forgive the others for not using their abilities because they came from a far less sophisticated era; you do not have that luxury, especially with Zeus sending Henri's son after you. Zeus wants to know what you can do, and just how vulnerable you are...or aren't." "So, Zeus had caused Henri to have the child. Henri believed he outlived him. I thought I could feel a presence here. He's in Miami, isn't it?" He nodded. "His original name is Aquila, but he's now known as Elias Adrianus, and your ability to feel his presence is because he carries a spark of the fire within you, and they're connected. Prometheus told me that Zeus had Kakia visit Aquila yesterday, and that seductive goddess of immorality and all-around badness has convinced him of an easy means to get what he wants. He believes he needs to kill you so he can die, and she gave him a Chronosian blade for the job." "What's that?" asked Ronan. "You are bound by an eternal flame. Eternity is a temporal construct involving duration, so the blade will destroy the flame by removing its eternality; an instantaneous flame can have no real existence." "Wouldn't that create a paradox?" asked Liam. Dolos smiled. "It's so refreshing to talk to you modern humans; I don't have to explain so much or assume you wouldn't understand. It would create a paradox if it removed its eternality from all time, but it doesn't, it begins from the point the blade pierces Ronan's skin by temporally snuffing it out." "Can it pierce my skin?" "That's a question I can't answer, and neither can anyone else. No one even knows if what they're attempting will work. As human scientists like to say, it's a hypothesis; one that Zeus is putting to the test. But I'm not sure that Zeus wants you dead; I think he wants to create conditions so dire that it will force you to use the power within you. He wants to see what you can do. "Why doesn't Aquila just use the blade on himself?" Liam asked. "Unlike everyone else, he is not independent. He owes his perpetual existence to the flame that binds Ronan and Chiron, and he can only die if he destroys Ronan's flame. Apart from him though, it can destroy anyone whose skin it can pierce by turning their future into an instantaneous blip. And that also includes yourself, Liam, so be on your guard. "I know that Aquila stayed at the Cerulean Sea Hotel last night. I sent him a little pink card to distract him and signed it with Kakia's preferred nickname. Zeus's plan only works if Aquila wants to die. I figure, he's been an unhappy man for a long time, I'm hoping a new experience will help to change things, and perhaps he might see that living isn't such a terrible thing." "Just a spark has kept Aquila alive all these centuries?" asked Ronan. "Yes, so imagine what you can do with the full flame." "But isn't fire just a destructive force?" Liam asked. "From a human perspective," said Dolos, "fire destroys forests and things humans create, so it's viewed as destructive, but there's something more profound happening. Normal fire doesn't destroy, it's a conversion process. It mindlessly changes things from one form into another. Prometheus believes Ronan is an eternal flame given sentience, a fire that burns in such a unique way that it can willfully create by converting one thing into something else, and that's just the beginning of what he believes Ronan may be capable." Liam turned to Ronan. "You said using the power just once would have a consequence; what is it?" "Once he uses it," said Dolos, "there will be no turning back. The eternal flame remains transferable only until a Centaurian uses it. At that point, it has found its permanent home. That's why finding a good man for a replacement has been so crucial. Liam asked Dolos. "If Ronan uses the power, what would he become? It sounds like he would be a god." "It's complicated. Ronan is half the human he was and half Chiron. And just like Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Chiron is a son of the Titan, Cronus but his mother is a sea nymph named Philyra. So, Chiron is a demigod whether he was ever treated as one or not, and he is half-brother to Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. So, Ronan, as he stands, is already one-quarter god, but there's no way Ronan and Chiron's bondage to an eternal flame couldn't change the equation. So, would he become a full god? No one knows, not even Prometheus in his prescience, but I suspect that he would." "In that case, Ronan," said Liam, "you shouldn't have to go through this alone; you need me more than I thought. If Zeus wants to know what Ronan can do so badly, why doesn't he just challenge him directly?" "When royalty fears the food, they get servants to taste it first, only then will they decide if it's a meal fit for a king." "Oh, I see," said Liam. "Well, Ronan, if this Aquila person is in Miami, then we should leave." "I agree with the warrior," said Dolos. "It may only delay the inevitable, but it gives you time to think about what to do. The last thing you need is for Aquila to show up while unprepared." "Won't they just tell him where to find me?" "Probably. So, wherever you go, don't stay too long, unless you lay in wait of him. You should abandon this location soon." "If we flew somewhere, wouldn't Zeus just knock the plane from the sky?" asked Ronan. "I can't imagine why he would bother. You would only survive it, and it wouldn't give him what he wants. He has no reason to lift any more fingers. He has a man willing to travel anywhere to find you, and he has the resources to do it." "Why does Aquila want to die so badly?" Liam asked. "The difference between Ronan and Aquila is one of choice. Ronan chose this, but Aquila had immortality thrust upon him at birth, and for him---or anyone in his situation (even a god)---the price of forever is too high if you have no one with which to share it. Prometheus understands that, and that's why the other stallions had only one thousand years, and Ronan has-" "That's enough beans being spilled for one day, I think," Ronan interrupted. Dolos paused staring at Ronan for a moment and gave a little smile. "Very well, I must go, anyway. This morning I have my first genuine Cuban coffee followed by my first genuine Cuban. Yesterday, I met an exquisitely handsome man named Eterio at the nude beach." "Oh well, don't let us keep you, Dolos," said Ronan as he walked him to the door. "Thank you for your assistance. You are, as always, a deceptively bright spot in any friend's day. And I hope you enjoy your Cuban!" The moment the door closed behind Dolos, Liam asked, "And Ronan has...what?" "Much to do. That's what." Liam laid his bag on the dining room table. "If Dolos is the god of deception and trickery, how can we believe anything he says?" "Oh, even he would admit that's a fair question," said Ronan as he set his bag beside Liam's. "He and Prometheus are trickster gods, but they're not bad. Prometheus made humanity and wants humans to do well. He gave them fire, and that resulted in all the technology that came after it. Dolos is Prometheus's apprentice. Together, they have been helpful to humanity and especially to those stallions who came before me. Besides, it gives Dolos opportunities to use his amazing imagination and abilities for a noble cause." He pushed at the bag in front of Liam. "Here, open it." Liam took the bag and unzipped it from the left. "Hey! This is like the clothing from that store I wanted to take you to." He pulled out a white, tailored Oxford shirt. The bag held an entire suit of clothes, jeans, socks, a pair of underwear, a belt, and a shoe bag containing a pair of coordinating shoes. "Is that acceptable?" asked Ronan. "It's perfect." "Are you sure you wouldn't like something different?" "There's nothing else in the bag." "Oh, really?" Ronan zippered the bag. "Look again." Liam opened the bag, and inside was an entirely different suit of clothing. "How is that possible?" "The bag unzips from both directions." Ronan tapped the pull from the opposite side of the same zipper. Liam unzipped it from the right and inside was a white linen suit. Ronan zipped it back, turned the bag around, and got him to unzip it from the left. Inside was various and sundry bathroom items and other necessities. He zipped it back and unzipped it from the right and the bag was empty for whatever he wanted to bring. Ronan closed it, turned one end of the bag toward Liam. When he unzipped it, he found ten thousand dollars in American currency bundled in stacks of tens, twenties, and fifties. When he re-zipped it, he turned the bag to the opposite end and opened it again. It contained ten thousand euros in European currency divided into the same denominations, an Italian passport, and a wallet with an Italian driver's license, and various other pieces of identification, all of which had his photo on them. Liam appeared stupefied as though he had just witnessed an illusionist performing a particularly convincing bit of street magic. He stood there studying the Italian passport. "Is all this real?" "Of course, it's real," said Ronan. "Let's get changed, get a smoothie, and decide where we're going. Whatever you need, be sure to bring it, like your US passport." "Okay, Dolos," said Liam sifting through the Italian wallet. "I have no clue how you managed it, but you're a genius. Thank you. I just hope we don't get arrested while attempting to use any of it."