Page 24 of Concluded (The Bureau #13)

I nterestingly, both Grimes and Dee loudly opposed Achilles’ plan to dive into the black hole, but not because they thought he’d fuck things up.

Grimes kept insisting that he couldn’t ask anybody else to undertake such a hazardous mission, and Dee kept saying that Achilles was being a reckless idiot.

To which Achilles replied, in turn, “You’re not asking, I’m telling,” and “Takes one to know one.”

The only one who didn’t say anything at all was Tenrael, who stood there with his wings slowly fanning, his red eyes bright. Only when the three-way argument had devolved into snarls and curses did Tenrael step into the middle, his arms held out to silence them.

“Agent Spanos’s plan is the most logical. He is the only person we know with experience in this so-called black hole, so he will be less disoriented and quicker to act when he arrives there. And Charles, your skills would be put to better use by continuing to organize what remains of the Bureau.”

“Also, I’m more expendable,” Achilles added, almost cheerfully.

But Tenrael shook his head. “Nobody is extraneous or expendable.”

Grimes swore once more, but the wind was clearly gone from his sails, and Achilles sat down again, trying to suppress a triumphant grin.

Winning meant that he would willingly return to the worst place he’d ever been, and quite possibly something awful would happen to him. He felt pleased nonetheless.

“Let’s go,” he said to Dee. “What’s something you can use as a charm?” He looked around for something suitably small, but before he had a chance to find anything, it was Grimes’s turn to cross his arms.

“Not now. Give yourself another day to heal. And in the meantime maybe Agent Afolabi can find useful information about genies. Anything to make success more likely.”

Everyone agreed that this made sense. Grimes and Tenrael departed, leaving Dee and Achilles staring at each other across the table.

After a while, Dee said mildly, “That was a damn fool thing to do.”

“Funny—I was just going to say the same to you. But it’s my job. What’s your excuse?”

Dee lifted his chin. “It’s not your job anymore, is it? Nobody’s paying you for this.”

“Do you think I became an agent because it pays well?” Achilles snorted. “I’m not exactly living in poverty, but I could have found lots of careers that would have made me richer—and where I’d more likely survive to enjoy my retirement savings.”

“Why did you join the Bureau, then?”

This was sending the conversation off-topic, and Achilles wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about this.

He’d never discussed these things with anyone except Townsend, back when Achilles had first been recruited.

He’d tried to tell Orson once, when he’d been high-pressuring Achilles to quit the Bureau.

But Orson had refused to listen, claiming that Achilles’ past was irrelevant to their future.

It hadn’t been the only thing that doomed their relationship, but it played a major part.

Now, though, Dee genuinely seemed as if he wanted to know the answer to his question.

“It’s all because of a fucked-up childhood.

I mean, isn’t it always?” Achilles tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, hoping the lack of eye contact would make it easier to speak.

But it didn’t, and it also made him feel like a coward, so he faced Dee again.

“My parents were immigrants. It’s an old story: they came here with nothing, worked like dogs, and eventually saved up enough to open a little shop.

Very basic. They sold sandwiches, pastries my mama baked, a handful of food and sundry items they imported from the old country.

There weren’t a lot of Greeks in our town, but they’d all gather at my parents’ place, sitting around little tables with cigarettes and cups of coffee, gossiping. ”

He paused for a moment, remembering the scents that had surrounded him since birth, the way the conversations had ebbed and flowed like the Aegean Sea, the hands that had reached out to tousle his hair or feed him a small treat.

“My parents worked incredibly long hours, seven days a week, and they made it crystal clear that they were doing this for our benefit: my sister’s and mine. In exchange, we were supposed to be… legendary. They named my sister Atalanta. She was?—”

“A mythical hunter.” Dee grinned. “I read, sometimes.”

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, my sister—she’s six years older than me—fulfilled all their expectations. Straight A’s. Never got in trouble. When she wasn’t studying, she was helping out at the shop or doing chores at home.”

“That’s a lot to ask of a kid.”

Out of habit, Achilles almost denied it. He and Atalanta had been trained to see these expectations as natural. But he’d known even as a child that there was something wrong with them. His parents had made him feel stifled, as if they’d stuffed him into a too-small suit.

“Atalanta didn’t seem to mind. She was really proud of what she did.

My parents were proud of her too. Me, on the other hand…

. I wasn’t a rotten kid. But I didn’t push to do my best in school.

I fooled around when I was supposed to be studying.

I’d sneak away from my chores to go hang out with friends.

When I hit my mid-teens, sometimes I’d get stoned or drunk. I was a disappointment.”

His parents had made sure to tell him that, likely in hopes of inspiring him to reform, but it had only made him more stubborn.

“It got worse. When I was sixteen, I got caught fooling around with another boy. My parents freaked out. They weren’t all that homophobic in general, I guess, but I was their only son. I was supposed to marry a nice Greek girl and have kids to carry on the family name.”

Achilles wished he could pace the room, or better yet, take a long run outside.

But his feet needed to heal and outside wasn’t safe, so he remained at the table, toying with his empty water glass.

If he was supposed to feel better by getting all of this off his chest, it wasn’t helping.

He felt as if his lungs were being squeezed.

Dee looked concerned. “Did they kick you out?”

“No. There was just yelling and tears at first, and then… silence.” He’d preferred the yelling. “So all of this is sort of backdrop for what eventually happened, I guess.”

Achilles stopped, truly not wanting to continue. Dee remained across from him, though, paying close attention but not seeming to judge, and not even urging him to continue. Just… waiting to listen. In a way that Orson never had.

“It was the summer after I graduated high school,” Achilles said, his voice sounding too loud in his own ears.

“Atalanta was out of state in med school. She’d gotten a full-ride to Stanford for undergrad.

I, on the other hand, barely made it into a state university—with no scholarship—but at least I was going to college, which mollified my parents a little.

I was supposed to spend the summer working at the shop so my parents could take a break now and then, but I was being flaky about showing up on time. I’d stay up too late, oversleep….”

Getting mauled by a bear shifter was less painful than reliving this memory.

“One particular day…. It was a Tuesday in July. One of those days when it’s already hot when the sun rises, and moving around feels like wading through syrup. I was supposed to be at the shop by 10:30, but I stayed in bed and ignored the phone when it rang.”

Actually, he’d spent the morning alternately dozing and lazily jerking off. He’d seen Gladiator a few weeks earlier, and visions of buff Romans had been dancing through his head ever since. That was more information than Dee needed, however.

“I figured it was no big deal. Mornings were quiet. The lunch rush didn’t start until just before noon, and my parents’ friends usually showed up mid-afternoon.” Achilles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A few minutes before eleven, a guy walked into the shop and pulled a gun.”

“Shit,” said Dee.

“The robber was just a kid. A dumb one, because there was hardly any cash in the till at that time of day. The rest, well, my parents didn’t have security cameras, so the cops had to piece things together the best that they could.

They figure Mama was in back and my father up front, and Baba refused to hand over the money.

Which makes sense. They’d worked so hard for so long.

Every penny was hard-earned. Mama probably heard them yelling and stepped through the backroom door, and the robber panicked and shot her.

Baba pulled his own gun then—he kept it hidden near the till—and shot the robber.

Who managed to pull the trigger once more before collapsing.

By the time police arrived, all three of them were dead on the floor. ”

Achilles hadn’t seen this himself, for which he was grateful. But he’d gone to the store later, after the bodies had been taken away, and had seen the damaged fixtures and the dried blood. He could picture the scene plenty clearly. He often saw it in his nightmares.

“Do you blame yourself for this?” Dee asked.

“If I’d been there when I was supposed to be…

. I don’t know what would have happened.

But I think it would have turned out differently.

” Achilles realized that he was gripping his glass almost tightly enough to break it, so he forced himself to relax.

“Atalanta totally blamed me. And I decided I’d honor my parents’ memory in a way that I never had when they were alive, although I wasn’t sure exactly how.

Then when I was close to graduating college, Townsend—he was Bureau chief then—showed up at my door and offered me a job. ”

Dee nodded slowly. “A job where you could be legendary.”

“Something like that.”

“I get it.” Dee nodded again. “I mean, you can tell what low expectations my parents had for their son, Damnation. But I get it.”

Achilles’ lungs loosened. “So why did you volunteer to go into the black hole?”

“Dunno. It’s nice to feel needed, though.” Now it was Dee’s turn to look away.

Achilles knew for a fact that the wall to Dee’s left was not fascinating, so he waited a few beats and then said, “You’re critical to this mission.” Which was the complete truth, because without Dee, how the hell was anyone going to rescue the prisoner?

Dee’s cheeks pinked. “I guess genies are as bad as humans, throwing themselves to the wolves in hopes of satisfying their egos.” Then he sighed.

“Also, I watched the news last night after you went to sleep. It’s bad.

The kinds of things you read about in history books, and you shudder and think Thank God I live in the USA , only that doesn’t work anymore.

I don’t know if going into the black hole will solve anything, but I have to try. ”

“I think that’s a pretty fair description of a hero,” said Achilles.

“But you haven’t told me why you’re going. You said it’s your job, but I bet the chief could find lots of other things for you to do. He said so himself.”

Well, what the hell. Achilles had already spilled most of his guts this morning—without the help of any bear shifters—so he might as well spill the rest. He held Dee’s gaze.

“I’m going because you are. Because I want to do my best to keep you safe.”