WORTH | jason grace¹

22

Lit stood behind the throne, both hands on his sword, glancing at Piper and flexing his muscular arms just to be annoying. Jason wondered if he looked that ripped holding a sword. Sadly, he doubted it.

Piper sat forward. "What our satyr friend means, Your Majesty, is that you're the second mortal we've met who should be—sorry—dead. King Midas lived thousands of years ago."

"Interesting." The king gazed out the windows at the brilliant blue skies and the winter sunlight. In the distance, downtown Omaha looked like a cluster of children's blocks —way too clean and small for a regular city.

"You know," the king said, "I think I was a bit dead for a while. It's strange. Seems like a dream, doesn't it, Lit?"

"A very long dream, Your Majesty."

"And yet, now we're here. I'm enjoying myself very much. I like being alive better."

"But how?" Lorna asked. "You didn't happen to have a ... patron?"

Midas hesitated, but there was a sly twinkle in his eyes. "Does it matter, my dear?"

"We could kill them again," Hedge suggested.

"Coach, not helping," Jason said. "Why don't you go outside and stand guard?"

Leo coughed. "Is that safe? They've got some serious security."

"Oh, yes," the king said. "Sorry about that. But it's lovely stuff, isn't it? Amazing what gold can still buy. Such excellent toys you have in this country!"

He fished a remote control out of his bathrobe pocket and pressed a few buttons—a pass code, Lorna guessed.

"There," Midas said. "Safe to go out now."

Coach Hedge grunted. "Fine. But if you need me ..." He winked at Jason meaningfully. Then he pointed at himself, pointed two fingers at their hosts, and sliced a finger across his throat. Very subtle sign language.

"Yeah, thanks," Jason said.

After the satyr left, Piper tried another diplomatic smile. "So ... you don't know how you got here?"

"Oh, well, yes. Sort of," the king said. He frowned at Lit. "Why did we pick Omaha, again? I know it wasn't the weather."

"The oracle," Lit said.

"Yes! I was told there was an oracle in Omaha." The king shrugged. "Apparently I was mistaken. But this is a rather nice house, isn't it? Lit—it's short for Lityerses, by the way—horrible name, but his mother insisted—Lit has plenty of wide-open space to practice his swordplay. He has quite a reputation for that. They called him the Reaper of Men back in the old days."

"Oh." Lorna tried to sound enthusiastic. "How nice."

Lit's smile was more of a cruel sneer.

"So," Jason said. "All this gold—"

The king's eyes lit up. "Are you here for gold, my boy? Please, take a brochure!"

Jason looked at the brochures on the coffee table. The title said GOLD: Invest for Eternity. "Um, you sell gold?"

"No, no," the king said. "I make it. In uncertain times like these, gold is the wisest investment, don't you think? Governments fall. The dead rise. Giants attack Olympus. But gold retains its value!"

"Make? From. . . what?" Lorna asked.

Leo frowned. "I've seen that commercial."

"Oh, don't be fooled by cheap imitators!" the king said. "I assure you, I can beat any price for a serious investor. I can make a wide assortment of gold items at a moment's notice."