Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 15

Dara

"Why---why are you wearing that?"

"You said this morning at 10:32am that I needed to 'express myself more' and 'be free' and 'stop being so stuffy' therefore I have adopted a clothing style that suits my inner spirit," I say, spreading my maps out on the dining room table, "I'm entertaining soon, mother, would you mind absenting yourself?"

"I really just meant—sweetheart---where did you get a war helmet—and a ball gown---WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE ENTERTAININIG IT'S TWO AM???"

"My brother forged me the helmet, and the gown, well, it's best to be prepared," I say, hands on my hips, studying my maps and charts. I begin to lay them out. I may have to call my grandpa he's the one who taught me how to do this.

"Dara—honey, who are you entertaining at two am? Also why aren't you in bed?"

"My brother, he needed help he texted, and now he's coming over," I say.

"But, your visitation isn't up yet?" she and my dad's lawyers agreed it was good for me to see her a week out of the month. That would interfere the least with my schooling and give her plenty of time to recover after my boisterous presence.  She almost sounds hopeful that she'll get to give me up.

"I know. He's coming for a favor my dad is coming on Friday—unless you want him to come earlier?" I ask, keeping the hope out of my voice.  I'd much, much rather be home even with my horrible Aunt Helen. She is rotten, and my siblings are annoying, but they're all that I have. My grandpa will talk endlessly with me about my charts and plans and things and he's good for translating most anything.

"Why are you even still up?" my mother asks, tiredly.

"I'm currently running three different military campaigns remotely, they're in another time zone I'll sleep when my men do. It just got infinitely more complicated now that Thyme is coming back here," I say, as I check one of my four laptops for communication.

"T—TT—Thyme? THAT brother?" she doesn't like him. Most people don't. I don't like most people.

"Yes that one, my favorite, my eldest," for whatever reason the other half of me.  We are the farthest apart in age that we know of yet, with the most in common. Like we were meant to be twins more than Sol and Luna, those two are ying and yang. Thyme and I are the last two pieces to complete a puzzle.

"There---there aren't three different wars going on in the world right now," she's been googling it. I don't understand how I'm related to my mum. She looks nothing like me. I'm like a very pretty version of my dad, complete with his stormy grey eyes, high cheekbones, small sly mouth, and violently dark hair. She is small and delicate and not very pretty looking, with nervous fingers and a bad habit of chewing on her nails. I know why my dad liked her: he likes anything that moves.

"I am aware," I say, going to another laptop.

"There are---Dara are you managing both sides?"

"Mmmhmm," I say typing. I do need more foreign language lessons from my grandpa next week. He speaks quickly and gives entirely too much information making it quicker than any app.

"So---when we discussed last night you picking up some fun hobbies. Like painting? Or drawing? Or taking ballet lessons?"

"I wasn't listening," I assure her, "You can go to bed."

"Dara---I want to be your mom," she sighs.

"You didn't," I say, flatly.

She screams, which I think I a real overreaction. Then I realize Thyme just walked in like he does without unlocking the door the proper way.

"Can you give me a map of the Underworld?—Hi Maria how are you? I left the twins don't worry they aren't here," he says, really politely. That does not make my mom feel better. He has two guns across his back, one on his front, and if I'm right which I usually am, eighty other forms of weaponry strapped across his body. Also he's lightly splattered with what appears to be somebody else's blood.

"I can't give it to you exactly," I say, as he comes up to squeeze me.

"Nice helmet—why not? Anna went down there I want to go make sure she's okay?" he says.

"This is it---the clear pages are different levels---seven, they lay on top of each other, and rotate," I say, pointing at the markings, "It's methodical though, every hour."

"Right, okay," he says, nodding, "I'm not gonna be able to remember that----can you write it down? I can show you where I think she is. I have the maps she was working on."

"Yeah you texted them to me---that puts her there—pink x---on the third level. You'll start on level one, as it spins, in the opposite direction of the other two--,"

"Shit," he says, staring at the complexity of the map, "You don't have a travel sized version?"

"Should I be worried about what you're doing?" my mom asks.

"No," Thyme says, "It's fine ma'am; she's not going."

"Be more worried about my campaigns---I did not plan on having you back," I tell Thyme.

"Yeah I know, sorry, I just really needed to check on her she hasn't been answering her phone," he says, sighing.

"For the safety of the East Coast, you do know any one of our siblings would have checked up on her and the twins?" I ask, gently. He knows he can't be home. It used to take weeks for the violence to break out. Now, within hours of him being in any populated area, riots start to break out. He can't figure out how not to do it. He's tried. Even when he does his best to be distracted and lay low and not interact, he himself suffers. He was physically weakened after being home when the twins were born to the point of having fevers and being unable to keep food down. We don't know exactly why. But it amounts to it being best if he isn't home.

"Dara," he sighs, he's well now fresh from battle. His face has good color and his hair and faint beard have no hints of grey like they did when he spent months home, away from it.  "I have to find her. I promised her---if she's fine she is. But—this is something I have to do."

I nod, "Let's get you in and out then."

"Right so, travel sized version?" he asks, hopefully.

"It wouldn't do you any good---Hector can and does change the rotation and patterns at will—though he doesn't or can't change the actual sectors—,"

"What's the bottom line?" Thyme asks.

I hold up a walkie-talkie, "I'm going to need to walk you through it. The whole time—you describe what you see and I tell you where to go next."

He grins now, "Let's do this."