the manager of the place. His face was fascinating, thick-lipped with a warm smile and the palest, coldest blue eyes I had ever seen—one of which was lazy, rolling this way and that as he scanned our luggage.
"Welcome to Mykonos," he said in heavily accented English. "You will love it here. But this"—he gestured to our bags—"you don't need so many
12
THE IMMORTAL
clothes here. Mykonos is always warm this time of year."
"I have many of your father's things in my bags," Silk said to us, annoyed at the hired help questioning what she'd brought.
"Do our rooms have ocean views?" Helen asked Mr. Politopulos.
"One of the rooms does," he replied.
Helen flashed a glance my way and we shrugged in unison. We both knew which room would be ours, and that was fine. Helen's parents had paid for her plane ticket, but my father was shouldering the hotel bills. Helen's trip was a present from my father to me.
We boarded Mr. Politopulos's van and headed for the hotel. Mykonos was not big, only ten miles across, and soon we were bouncing our way along the outskirts of Hora—the main city on the island.
Mr. Politopulos explained the colorful history of Hora. Egyptians, Phoenicians, Cretans, and Ionians had all lived on the island in the b.c.s. Turks and an endless train of pirates had run the place later—the population would explode, then become almost extinct depending on which way the winds of war were blowing. It wasn't until the 1950s that tourism took hold and island life began to resemble what it was today. At that Mr. Politopulos laughed, saying that Mykonos was basically a big party island. He had been born on Mykonos and had lived his whole life there.
We never entered Hora, however, but turned south away from the city for the remainder of the ride to our
13
CHRISTOPHER PIKE
hotel. It was only then I got my first good look at the sea, and I was in love. The water was a jewel blue the California coast would never know, the sand clean and uncluttered, lazily draped with brown bodies of enviable shape and elusive covering. Already I could see several pairs of male buns and knew I would have a crick in my neck long before the vacation was over.
Helen pointed to an island out at sea, perhaps five miles away. "That's Delos," she said. "The most sacred island in the Aegean Sea."
"Why is it so sacred?" I asked.
"Because Apollo and his sister Artemis were born there," she said.
The sun flashed in my eyes as I stared at the island. I had to close them briefly, and once more I had that same sense of coming home that I had had on the plane. I felt I had been to this place before.
"I want to go there soon," I whispered.
"We'll go there tomorrow," Helen said, watching me.
Our hotel was simple, with whitewashed walls built to withstand the heat and sun. It was well situated beside a beach, but close enough to town so that we could walk in at night for the party life. Mr.
Politopulos checked us in and showed us our rooms, helping us with our bags. Dad and Silk's suite was spacious and on the second story overlooking the surf. Mr. Politopulos warned us to watch the doors and windows when the wind was blowing.
"A man last week got struck on the head by a
14
THE IMMORTAL
window and had to be taken to the hospital for stitches," he said. "The melt€mi —it blows fiercely when the gods are in the mood."
"The gods," I muttered. "Does anyone in Greece worship the ancient deities?"
Mr. Politopulos smiled, his lazy eye staring at my rubber sandals, his other one regarding my face. "Not worship," he said. "But many still respect them."
Our room was on the ground floor, in the back. It had a view of sorts. It overlooked a corner of the swimming pool, where, by golly, there were a lot of naked females enjoying the sun. We had narrow twin beds and a bathtub that looked as if it had been designed for a race of dwarfs. Neither of us believed we would be spending that much time in our room.
"Are you tired?" I asked Helen. Her
"Welcome to Mykonos," he said in heavily accented English. "You will love it here. But this"—he gestured to our bags—"you don't need so many
12
THE IMMORTAL
clothes here. Mykonos is always warm this time of year."
"I have many of your father's things in my bags," Silk said to us, annoyed at the hired help questioning what she'd brought.
"Do our rooms have ocean views?" Helen asked Mr. Politopulos.
"One of the rooms does," he replied.
Helen flashed a glance my way and we shrugged in unison. We both knew which room would be ours, and that was fine. Helen's parents had paid for her plane ticket, but my father was shouldering the hotel bills. Helen's trip was a present from my father to me.
We boarded Mr. Politopulos's van and headed for the hotel. Mykonos was not big, only ten miles across, and soon we were bouncing our way along the outskirts of Hora—the main city on the island.
Mr. Politopulos explained the colorful history of Hora. Egyptians, Phoenicians, Cretans, and Ionians had all lived on the island in the b.c.s. Turks and an endless train of pirates had run the place later—the population would explode, then become almost extinct depending on which way the winds of war were blowing. It wasn't until the 1950s that tourism took hold and island life began to resemble what it was today. At that Mr. Politopulos laughed, saying that Mykonos was basically a big party island. He had been born on Mykonos and had lived his whole life there.
We never entered Hora, however, but turned south away from the city for the remainder of the ride to our
13
CHRISTOPHER PIKE
hotel. It was only then I got my first good look at the sea, and I was in love. The water was a jewel blue the California coast would never know, the sand clean and uncluttered, lazily draped with brown bodies of enviable shape and elusive covering. Already I could see several pairs of male buns and knew I would have a crick in my neck long before the vacation was over.
Helen pointed to an island out at sea, perhaps five miles away. "That's Delos," she said. "The most sacred island in the Aegean Sea."
"Why is it so sacred?" I asked.
"Because Apollo and his sister Artemis were born there," she said.
The sun flashed in my eyes as I stared at the island. I had to close them briefly, and once more I had that same sense of coming home that I had had on the plane. I felt I had been to this place before.
"I want to go there soon," I whispered.
"We'll go there tomorrow," Helen said, watching me.
Our hotel was simple, with whitewashed walls built to withstand the heat and sun. It was well situated beside a beach, but close enough to town so that we could walk in at night for the party life. Mr.
Politopulos checked us in and showed us our rooms, helping us with our bags. Dad and Silk's suite was spacious and on the second story overlooking the surf. Mr. Politopulos warned us to watch the doors and windows when the wind was blowing.
"A man last week got struck on the head by a
14
THE IMMORTAL
window and had to be taken to the hospital for stitches," he said. "The melt€mi —it blows fiercely when the gods are in the mood."
"The gods," I muttered. "Does anyone in Greece worship the ancient deities?"
Mr. Politopulos smiled, his lazy eye staring at my rubber sandals, his other one regarding my face. "Not worship," he said. "But many still respect them."
Our room was on the ground floor, in the back. It had a view of sorts. It overlooked a corner of the swimming pool, where, by golly, there were a lot of naked females enjoying the sun. We had narrow twin beds and a bathtub that looked as if it had been designed for a race of dwarfs. Neither of us believed we would be spending that much time in our room.
"Are you tired?" I asked Helen. Her
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