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Go to sleep little baby
Avoid Phobetor’s black dreams
Run from beasts of dark wood
And all that is not good
I am here to quiet your screams
Go to sleep little baby
Let Phantasos grant you dreams
Of your wildest imagination
In worlds of hallucination
Where naught is as it seems
Go to sleep little baby
And Morpheus will give you dreams
Of your loved ones holding you tightly
In the places that you visit nightly
‘Til you wake in the morn’s sunny beams

Deianira discovered me standing above Althaea’s crib, doing my best to soothe her back to sleep with a lullaby. It seemed to have worked, for in no time, she was cooing softly as she grew softly, and by the time I returned her to her bed she was fast asleep.

Deianira smiled at me, then holding her finger to her lips, bade me join her back to the living room where my own temporary bed was.

I explained in my softest tone, “I heard her fussing, so I thought I would do my best to calm her before she woke you and Nessus up. I figured you could use the sleep.”

“Where did you learn that lullaby? From your mother?”

“Nah, it’s just something I made up. I’ve always had a talented for improvising songs. I’m not sure where it comes from.”

“Well, it was beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused, clearly internally debating on whether to ask her next question, then decided to take a chance anyways, “as my husband’s childhood friend, you are welcome here as long as you need be, but tell me why you’re really here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s obvious that I’m not homesick, eh?”

“No, it’s clear that you would have never returned here if it weren’t for some strong motivation driving you back.”

Should I be honest with her? Would her open invitation still stand if she knew the truth?

“Actually, I’m not really a hundred-percent sure. I’ve been having dreams compelling me to return, but I don’t know exactly why.”

“They must be some dreams to chase you away from a paradise like Mykonos.”

“Mykonos is not quite the paradise that people imagine it to be. Sure, it’s fun if you’re young and have money to spend, but for us locals, the glamour begins to fade in just a few years, and you see it for what it really is behind the façade. It gets tired fast.”

“Heraklion seems to be an odd choice for your subconscious to choose for you. We’re a rather conservative lot; it won’t be easy for you here.”

“I know. I’m hoping I can figure out why I’m here as soon as possible, so I can head back before too long.”

“I don’t think I can help you with that, but I think I can help you in other ways. You were a bouncer, right? I know of a place near Knossos that might have a job for you. And because it’s a tourist trap, your appearance would actually be an asset, as long as you don’t mind visitors constantly gawking at you.”

“At least it will beat the scowls from the locals here.”

“That it would. Let me see if I can pull a few threads. In the meantime, let’s get back to sleep before Althaea rouses again for her morning feeding.”

Thus, I found a position as a doorman at a sleazy watering hole known as Ariadne’s Alehouse (really?) located just a few blocks from the Palace of Knossos. The manager loved the fact that he had a real living, breathing minotaur working the door. The pay was low, but I more than made up for it in tips given to me by partially inebriated sightseers who wanted their picture taken with me. It was not long before I could afford my own place. I moved out of Nessus and Deianira’s home, thanking them for their hospitality, and into a dingy one-bedroom apartment similar to what I left behind on Mykonos. For the time being, the daimon had not returned. Perhaps it was content that I was on the right path? However, I knew that it was only a matter of time before it would return in all its terrifying glory if I didn’t find the next stage of my quest soon. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long before it literally walked in through the door.

It was early evening, so the Alehouse was still relatively empty. In the center, a group of foreign tourists were perusing the menu, trying to determine which entrees were the most ‘authentic’ but not too challenging for their palates. In the dimly-lit far corner, two feline wers, also tourists, were furtively whispering among themselves. I couldn’t tell if they were flirting with each other, or perhaps talking about me. Ever since I had been hired, the reputation of the Alehouse as being wer-friendly had quickly gotten out, and the manager had been all too happy for the increase in business. Nearer to the door, a regular was finishing up a bowl of whatever our soup of the day was. Behind the bar, Phaedra, the manager’s sister, was rinsing out mugs, pausing only to pour drinks for customers.

Since it wasn’t busy, I was helping out by bussing tables and taking the used glassware, dishes, and utensils back to the kitchen. I had just reemerged from the back when she walked through the door.

She clearly wasn’t a tourist, and she didn’t exactly dress like a local either. Her clothes were casual and dusty, and a wide-brimmed hat crowned her head. She removed her sunglasses, and I noticed the fine wrinkles about her eyes that were the result of premature aging due to too much time out in the sun. It didn’t take me too long to put the pieces together and realize that she was most likely an archaeologist who had been working the Palace site. While most of the Palace had been excavated and in some cases, inexpertly put back together for the sake of the tourists, I knew that that there were also ongoing diggings occurring during the less busy offseason. Perhaps it was simply a matter that I hadn’t been working here long enough, but this was the last place that I would expect an educated professional to wander into. Maybe she was lost? I decided to intercept her.

“Can I help you out?” I politely inquired, doing my best to look less intimidating.

She looked me over and then a wide smile took over the lower half of her face. “It is true! I thought my colleagues were pulling my leg.”

So that was it. She was no better than the usual tourist, just supposedly much smarter than the average lot. A weary sigh involuntarily escaped my mouth as my disappointment fully registered, “would you like a picture?” I had vainly hoped that she was somehow connected to the daimon that had summoned me.

“Oh, gosh, no . . . I didn’t mean that. That came out all wrong. You see . . . we have much we should talk about. You’re not originally from around here, are you?”

“Actually, I was born here. Sorry.”

“But you haven’t always been here, if I’m not mistaken?”

Now I was intrigued. “True, I just came back from Mykonos.” What was her angle?

“That’s what I thought. We have a lot in common, or we will, I should say. I think I know why you are here, and it’s my fault. Oh, I know I’m sounding crazy. I wouldn’t blame you if you threw me out right now. I know if you had showed up at my workplace acting the way I am, I would have called campus security already.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You may not be the only crazy one here. You have my attention, but now is not the best time for this. The evening is just beginning and I have a long shift ahead of me.”

“Of course, you do! My deepest apologies. I didn’t mean to disturb you at your job, but when I had heard, I just had to see for myself. Now that I know it’s all true, I can’t wait for us to talk. Here, let me write down where you can reach me at the university. Please, I beg you, please get ahold of me tomorrow. I promise I will make it all worth your while. You’ll understand when I can explain it fully. I’m Hypatia, head of the archaeology department at the University of Crete, and I think I know why you are here.”

I had never set hoof on the grounds of an institute of higher learning of any sort before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The campus was a maze of various buildings, and it took me asking for directions several times and consulting several maps, before I was able to locate the professor. What had initially cofounded me was that there was no archaeology department on the Heraklion campus. As it turned out, Hypatia was visiting from the Rethymnon campus and had a temporary office in the biology department while she was working the Knossos site.

Hypatia’s office was a small room wherein each wall consisted of nothing more than shelves of books occasionally punctuated by what I assumed to be devices used for archaeological purposes. In the corner of the room was a simple desk with two chairs. When I entered, Hypatia was seated so she faced the door and her desk was between us. She indicated that I should sit in the remaining chair. At first, I was worried that the proffered chair was far too flimsy to support my bulk. I cautiously lowered myself into it, and I was relieved that it didn’t collapse, although it still wobbled whenever I shifted my weight, which was often since I had difficulty getting comfortable in it.

“Technically, we’re not supposed to have alcohol on campus, but I suspect that I’m not the only professor who has a hidden stash, and I think we’re going to need it by the time we’re through.”

Hypatia opened a bottom drawer of her desk and produced from it a bottle of ouzo and two beat-up metal cups. She poured a generous amount in each and passed me one. I wasn’t quite ready to drink, but I took a sip to be polite.

After the fumes had finished their job of clearing my sinuses, I began, “tell me, why am I here?”

“You’ll probably not believe me, but I have no choice at this point. My career is most likely over at this point, but perhaps if my hunch is right, then you can help me and I, in turn, can help you. If we’re lucky, I keep my job, and you’ll never have to work again.”

I simply stared at her. I didn’t know what to say, so I just waited for her to continue. She took a long sip, and explained further.

“It’s my son’s fault, Silenus. I always knew there was something not right about him, but I figured since he was a mythological, it was part of the package. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Granted he’s not really mine. I adopted him. As far as I know, he’s never undergone the procedure. He was born that way, an actual second-generation mythological.”

“Wait, what? That can’t happen. When we transform, they render us sterile. It’s the price we pay; they don’t want us passing along our modified genes to any offspring.”

“That’s what they tell you. In reality, the modifications usually make fertility impossible all on their own. It’s like breeding a horse and a donkey and producing a mule. They snip you anyways, just to be safe, but usually it’s not necessary.”

“Then how is a second-generation even possible then?”

“Why are some mules fertile? Sure, it’s rare, but it’s been known to happen. And not all vasectomies are effective as anyone who has unexpectedly found themselves a father has learned. Therefore, it’s no real surprise that Silenus’s biological mother would have given him up for adoption. She erroneously thought herself safe because she was dating a mythological. Not only did she probably not want a child, but she had no idea how to raise a non-human one.”

“But you did?”

“No, I didn’t either, but because of my situation, I didn’t have many options. I’m single and past the age where most agencies feel comfortable assigning a child. When this unusual child came into their care, they realized that there weren’t many who would want him, so I got lucky.”

“What kind of mythological is he?”

“A satyr, although I suppose he was technically a faun when I first got him.”

I whistled through my teeth. In my experience, those who chose to become satyrs were known troublemakers. Their trickster natures went hand-in-hand with wanting to become half-goat. If such nature was genetic, then a satyr-child or a faun, would be just as mischievous. I can only imagine what sort of trouble a child like Silenus could get into. He would be quite the handful for anyone, much less a single college professor.

“What did your son do? And how am I a part of this picture?”

“Sil has always accompanied me on digs, and as soon as he became a teenager, he proved to be a real asset to my research. He had an instinct for finding important artifacts that bordered on the uncanny. Perhaps growing up with altered senses from birth allowed his brain to process sensory input in ways denied to those of us who started human. I owe much of my career success due to his abilities. He’s now nineteen years old, and his abilities have only gotten exponentially better. I don’t know if there will be any limit to his prowess.”

Hypatia pointed to some of the items on her shelves.

“Those are all replicas, of course. The originals are on display in museums, but they represent just a fraction of his finds. Needless to say, we were both excited when we were given the opportunity to work on the Knossos site. It is the oldest civilization on the European continent that we know of and there’s still much that lies beneath its layers. What has been excavated so far dates from the Late Bronze Age, but we suspect that people have been living there since the Neolithic.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. What have you found so far?”

“Just the usual assortment of broken pottery and stone tools, but clearly Sil found something that prompted him to abandon both the site and me and head off island.”

“Clearly? You know this how?”

“Because he said as much in his journal.” Hypatia reached into another drawer of her desk and produced a leather-bound book wrapped in cord. “Even though he’s now a young adult, he still calls me his manoula.”

Mommy, I thought to myself. How sweet.

“Go ahead, take this home and read it all, if you wish, but I’ve marked what I consider to be the most relevant passages. And you’ll also find out why I’ve reached out to you, for you see, I think you’re specifically mentioned in it as well.”

I still wasn’t sure what part I had to play in all of this family drama, but I certainly was intrigued. I drained what was left in my cup and promised Hypatia that I would be in contact once I had finished my reading assignment.