The Tyrant's Tomb

We all need a hand
On our shoulder sometimes so
We can chew through steel
“VAPORIZED,” SAID REYNA.
“Yes.”
“What did you do to him?” Meg asked.
I tried to look offended. “Nothing! I may have teased him a bit, but he
was a very minor god. Rather silly-looking. I may have made some jokes at
his expense in front of the other Olympians.”
Reyna knit her eyebrows. “So you bullied him.”
“No! I mean…I did write zap me in glowing letters on the back of his
toga. And I suppose I might have been a bit harsh when I tied him up and
locked him in the stalls with my fiery horses overnight—”
“OH, MY GODS!” Meg said. “You’re awful!”
I fought down the urge to defend myself. I wanted to shout, Well, at least
I didn’t kill him like I did my pregnant girlfriend Koronis! But that wasn’t
much of a gotcha.
Looking back on my encounters with Harpocrates, I realized I had been
awful. If somebody had treated me, Lester, the way I had treated that puny
Ptolemaic god, I would want to crawl in a hole and die. And if I were honest,
even back when I was a god, I had been bullied—only the bully had been my
father. I should have known better than to share the pain.
I hadn’t thought about Harpocrates in eons. Teasing him had seemed like
no big deal. I suppose that’s what made it even worse. I had shrugged off our