Hello, welcome to the long awaited Blood of Apollo. This is my first full story for the Hardy Boys so I hope that you all enjoy it.

Frank and Joe are the same ages as they are in the books.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys


Joe Hardy felt anticipation running through him as he sat in the darkened theatre. Although there was a play on the stage, Joe could not understand the Old English it was in and was just wishing it would be over. The only positive point was that the main character was played by a beautiful woman. But then he couldn't pay much attention to her. While he was there with his family and his girlfriend and her family, he wasn't there to relax.

He was there on a case, hence the anticipation. Someone had been vandalising theatre shows all through the local area and had hospitalised someone when the stage had collapsed. Joe and his older brother, Frank, had reason to believe that the play they were currently suffering through would be the next one hit.

It wasn't exactly a normal hobby for the two brothers but, at eighteen and seventeen, Frank and Joe had become quite accomplished detectives. They had taken after their father in that regard.

Joe was suddenly put on guard by Frank digging an elbow into his side. He frowned, turning to give his brother a look of confusion and annoyance. Frank immediately answered it with a nod at the corner of the stage. Joe shifted in his seat and strained to see what had caught his brother's attention.

He grinned as he caught sight of a man waiting in the wings. He was tall and rat-faced, greasy black hair pulled back like he was trying to look like a mobster from a bad film. He perfectly matched the descriptions the brothers had and looked a lot like a blurry picture they had of their main suspect.

"Come on," Frank whispered.

The two brothers got to their feet and made their way out of the theatre. Thankfully, they had picked seats on the end of one row, wanting to ensure they could easily escape if something did come up. They made their way out of a large side door and set off at a sprint down the corridor.


With everyone watching the play or working backstage, the corridors were almost empty. The brothers only encountered one flustered usher as they hurried towards the backstage area. Thankfully the usher recognised them and knew that they had been helping out at the theatre. He waved them through, warning them to stop running when they got backstage.

Frank and Joe were a little unimpressed when they reached the grand door clearly marked backstage and found that there was no one standing guard. When they had asked if the theatre wanted them to stand guard on the door, they had been informed the theatre had their own people. It was why the brothers had been forced to wait for action in the audience, rather than be right onside.

"No wonder he's been wreaking havoc here so easily," Joe said, dryly.

He pulled open the door and grandly gestured for his brother to take the lead. Frank rolled his eyes but slipped in first.


The backstage area was a flurry of life, a stark contrast to the empty corridors the boys had been racing down. Performers were darting about with nervous energy, stagehands were operating lights, moving props, shooing people out of the way so they could keep passageways clear.

Frank and Joe found themselves becoming disoriented in the chaotic maze, the feeling made worse with shifting geography as props and sets were moved about the place. Then Joe grabbed his brother by the arm. He pointed towards an actress who was walking through the crowd with purpose.

"It's her scene, isn't it?" Joe asked.

He was surprised he had picked up that information himself. He and Frank had suffered through a few rehearsals while trying to investigate what was going on and, while he couldn't understand what was being said, he knew what order people took to the stage.

Frank nodded and the two brothers followed the woman to the stage. They slowed to a stop when they caught sight of their target. The actress moved onto the stage without noticing him, likely assuming he was just another stagehand.

"What do we do?"

Frank and Joe watched the man, trying to work out what to do. They were sure he would notice them if they tried to block his path to the stage. But they couldn't just leave him. There was so much he could meddle with.

Joe grimaced, looking at Frank for some sort of answer. Then his brother grabbed his arm. Frank had seen a glinting of metal and instantly knew what it would be. A knife. They watched as the man turned, lifting the knife and placing it against one of the many ropes at the edge of the stage. Neither brother had any clue what it was connected to but they didn't dare let him cut it. Whatever would happen was sure to be bad news.

"Oi!" Joe shouted.

The man glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking onto the two brothers. Panic crossed his face and he immediately raced out across the stage. One of the actresses screamed. Someone from the crowd must have seen the knife because screams erupted from the crowd as well. Frank and Joe raced after the man, Frank shouting apologies as they barreled through the actors gathered on the stage. One actor managed to grab hold of Joe's jacket but the boy easily shook him off. The man sprinted from the stage, racing down a series of steps and knocking a stagehand to the floor. Joe and Frank pursued, reaching the bottom of the stairs. They looked both ways, seeing the man running down a left-hand corridor.

"That's a dead-end," Frank said. "Costume stores."

Joe grinned and the two brothers slowly made their way down the corridor.


Although the boys were reassured by the fact that their culprit had run into a closed-off room, they were immediately disheartened when they saw the room. Every inch of it was packed with rails of clothing, forming dense walls around the two of them. They surveyed the room quickly, Frank grimacing.

"He could easily slip out behind us."

"One of us will have to stay here," Joe agreed.

Frank nodded and looked at his brother to see if he was going to volunteer.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Frank tried.

Joe nodded and the two brothers played. Joe picked rock. Frank picked scissors. Rolling his eyes, Frank lent against the doorframe.

"How do you always win?" he grumbled.

"You're predictable," Joe smirked, beginning to set off.

"I prefer reliable," Frank returned.

Joe grinned over his shoulder at his brother and pressed deeper into the room. He began to make his way down the maze of costumes. Some of them he could give a rough guess at the sort of show they were used for but he wasn't exactly one for theatre. If they had a film, he might be able to get them but the only person who really bothered to try and educate him and Frank on such things was their aunt. Their parents had given up after they'd bought the boys ice cream during an interval in a local production of Cinderella and they'd spent the rest of the show discussing how lacking the prince's detective skills were.

He grinned when he heard the sound of metal hangers clinking together and dove towards it. When he reached where he was sure the noise had come from, he frowned. He couldn't see anyone. He looked about, preparing for an ambush. Then he noticed a few of the hangers swaying gently from side to side. He bit back a grin and started forwards, feinting obliviousness. The moment he was past the swaying hangers, he turned sharply. He forced the clothes aside, catching sight of the face of the man. Immediately Joe scrambled to grab him. The man dragged the clothes back in place, leaving Joe's hand to tangle in the material of some medieval style dress. Before Joe could free himself. The man sprang forward. He tackled Joe, the two of them crashing into another clothes rail. Joe was pinned beneath the man, pressed into an uncomforting pile of metal rail and coat hangers and awkward costumes.

He tried to roll over, hoping that he might be able to overcome the man and pin him instead but the man managed to squirm out of Joe's grip. He took a moment to recover, chest heaving as he stood over the young detective. Then he set off at a sprint, closing in on the door.

"He's heading back your way, Frank!" Joe shouted, stumbling to his feet.

He felt a sudden wave of panic grip him as he realised he couldn't see his brother standing at the door. The man had always worked alone. There was no way they could have missed him working with an accomplice.

Feeling clueless and a little worried, Joe told himself to focus. He charged after the man, prepared to take him down and find Frank. Just as the man reached the door, however, a figure stepped into the doorway. They slammed their hands hard into the man's chest, sending the man stumbling back. Joe skidded to a stop, trying to assess the situation in a way he thought Frank would be proud of. He grinned when he realised the figure was that of his brother, no doubt who had been hiding just out of sight from the doorway to trick the man into running full pelt at him.

Their cornered culprit stumbled to his feet and raised his hands in a bad attempt at a defensive stance. Joe smirked at his brother over the man's head and Frank sighed dramatically.

"Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be," Frank said.

The man thought for a second before reluctantly raising his hands in surrender.


Frank had secured the man with a belt borrowed from a Captain Hook costume and a climbing knot he had learnt off his father. While the boys had settled down to wait for the police to come and collect the man, their weasel-faced prisoner had tried to convince them he wasn't that much of a terrible person.

"I never killed anyone," the man, who had introduced himself as George Whitt, told them. "I didn't even really aim to hurt anyone. I just didn't want Melody to leave."

Joe gave Frank a look of utter disdain. George had admitted that he was utterly in love with leading lady Melody Rovers and had wanted to disrupt the play in the hope he would stop a talent scout who had been interested in watching Melody might decide it wasn't worth the hassle. He believed the moment she got whisked away to Broadway, he would have no chance with her. Both Hardy's could see that George had utterly overestimated his charisma. Melody Rovers was a brilliant actress and a beautiful, intelligent young woman who raised funds for three different charities regularly. George Whitt was the sort of slimy entitled person that made you desperate for a shower the moment you brushed against him. The possessive way he talked about Melody made both brothers itch with the urge to punch him.

"Those police had better get here soon," Joe groaned.

He had done what he could to correct the damage his chase had done to the costume store but had been forced to leave a pile of clothes that he could not find the homes of. Frank bit back his own comment but couldn't stop his face lighting up when he heard footsteps hurrying over. He silently begged for it to be the police coming to take George out of their custody.

Instead, he saw the familiar plump shape of Chet Morton appear in the doorway. Chet was a little breathless, clearly having run down to find them. He looked very relieved to have found the boys there.

"You got him then," Chet said, triumphantly.

"We did," Joe cheered. "Now we are just waiting for the police."

Chet nodded, saying it was a good idea for them to remain in the costume room.

"Everyone wants to know what is going on," he explained. "And I think the actors might be after you for running across the stage."

Frank grimaced, glancing at Joe. George Whitt cleared his throat, trying to draw attention back to himself. Chet crossed between them, edging around the culprit so he could make his way through the costumes.

"You'd think they'd be grateful," Joe mumbled. "We stopped the play from being disrupted."

"I think running across the stage is pretty disruptive," Frank smirked.

The two brothers chuckled to themselves.

"This stuff is so cool!" Chet cried from where he was lost in the costumes.

The two brothers met each other's eyes and chuckled. George shifted, hating that the attention was firmly no longer on him. He went to talk again but Joe purposefully scrambled to talk over him.

"Maybe you should take up acting."

Both Hardys could sense their friend seriously considering it. Chet would change hobbies at the drop of a hat and was constantly looking out for his next big interest. Chet had been interested in acting in the past. When he and Frank had been in fifth grade and Joe in fourth, Chet had signed himself and the older Hardy up to take part in the school play. Frank had felt like he couldn't pull out, a fact that Joe had found hilarious until he had been very firmly encouraged by Laura to join to make taxiing the boys around easier.

The sound of footsteps hurrying back made both boys sit up straighter. They glanced towards the door, prepared to confront whoever was coming.

"Hey, Hardys," they heard Chet call as he approached.

Frank and Joe looked over at their friend just in time to see him firmly place hats upon their heads. Joe's was knocked over his eyes and he righted it just in time to see Frank remove the Stetson he had been given. Joe pulled off his own to see he had been given a black fedora and he placed back on his head correctly.

"How do I look?" he asked, striking a pose.

"Like a wanna-be gangster," Frank quipped back, placing his own hat onto a costume rail.

Chet's face fell, pointing out that he had given them to the boys in case of photographers.

"You find a Sherlock style deerstalker back there?" Joe asked with a smirk. "That's more Frank's speed."

Frank rolled his eyes and then frowned.

"Photographers?"

"Yeah," Chet said. "All the journalists who were reviewing the play saw you two run across the stage. They all called their editors. That's why I came to find you two, I wanted to warn you."


Despite Chet's attempts to insist, Frank refused to bring the Stetson. Joe continued to wear the Fedora but Frank thought that was partly because his younger brother didn't want to miss a moment of the triumph of watching George Whitt be walked out to an awaiting police car. The gathered journalists were swarming over the officers walking him out, allowing Frank and Joe to shrink back against a brick wall of the theatre and hope they would be ignored. Chet had slipped away to rejoin his family. He loved to be in the limelight but hated to get attention he didn't feel like he had actually earnt. If journalists were swirling and he felt like his friends should be getting all the praise and admiration, he slipped away to ensure the Hardys couldn't pile it up on him.

The two brothers watched as the van containing Whitt pulled away and decided it was time to follow their friend's lead.

"Hardys! Hardys!" a voice suddenly called.

Frank and Joe turned sharply. Immediately there was a bright flash. When the boys recovered, they realised a journalist was standing there. She was tapping her notebook, asking for information while her photographer repeatedly took photographs. Both boys shrunk back. They didn't have much problem with being in the spotlight but they didn't like having their photos put everywhere. It weakened their ability to move around without being recognised by criminals, damaging their ability to do their work.

Both boys scrambled to obscure their faces.

Someone from the crowd of reporters near the van seemed to notice the commotion and hurried over, trying to work out if what was going on was a worthy story. Frank was sure one of the journalists had recognised them because suddenly their names were being called along with the barrage of questions. The brothers were buffeted from side to side as the journalists crowded them, their insistences that they weren't going to comment falling on deaf ears.

"Excuse me!" a firm voice suddenly called, cutting through the questions.

The journalists parted to allow Laura and Fenton Hardy through the crowd. Laura was fuming. She had never been keen on journalists for as long as the boys had known her. She never gave them a reason why. Sometimes she tried to deny the feelings of animosity all together. Frank put it down to his mother seeing that journalists could be annoying at times. He had nothing against them - he was even considering investigative journalist as a possible career - but given that part of their job was to never take no for an answer, they could be a nuisance. Joe thought it was something deeper. There were two times that journalists flocked to the Hardy family.

The first was when they had cracked a case, when it should be family time to celebrate a job well done and reunite if the case had been a long one that had sent the family to far-flung corners of the globe.

The other time was if something had gone wrong. It was when a case had them stumped or someone else had been murdered or one of their own had been harmed. And that was time Laura wished would be reserved for the family to nurture and comfort each other. Not be fielding questions from the droves of journalists.

She never said it, at least, not in front of the boys, but Joe could tell. He knew his mother extremely well.

"The boys said no comment and that means no comment. Now, if you could leave my boys aloneā€¦"

Her hard tone was all the assurance the journalists needed to know they weren't getting anything from the Hardys. They began to disperse, allowing the family to turn to each other.

"I see you caught your man," Fenton said proudly.

"Did you ever doubt we would?" Joe grinned back.

Fenton shook his head but admitted he would have much preferred to have gone chasing after their suspect than continue watching the play. Laura turned to him, scandalised, but both boys could see she felt the same way, even if she didn't voice it.

"I think a celebratory dinner is in order," Laura said. "We'll stop by the store on the way back, pick something up."

Frank and Joe told her it was a brilliant idea and began to debate what they should eat to celebrate. Fenton flung his arms across the shoulders off his boys, pulling them close and fishing for details about their case.

"Hardy?" a voice called just as the Hardys reached their car.

Fenton looked over his shoulder quickly and gasped.

"Wilson! Oh man, it's been years."

Frank and Joe both strained to see who had called their father. They saw a grey-haired man with a thick moustache approaching, arm in arm with a willowy brunette. He had a highly pronounced limp, his weight barely falling onto his left leg.

He clapped Fenton's hands into a hearty handshake before his eyes passed onto the rest of the Hardy family.

Frank could see the man slowly trying to calculate who they were so held out his hand to make introductions. His father stepped in first.

"Boys, this is Mr Wilson. He was one of my mentors when I first became a police officer. Wilson, these are my sons, Frank and Joe, and my wife, Laura."

"It's a real pleasure," Wilson said, smiling at them all. "I heard you had moved into the detective game."

"Yes. Less red tape," Fenton nodded.

Wilson hummed his agreement before patting his wife's arm.

"Still, red tape makes it safer."

"You still in the force?" Fenton enquired.

Frank and Joe prepared to shuffle away, expecting the usual small talk about the everyday life of a modern police officer.

"Oh, I left the police years ago. After I transferred out of New York, I ended up in the dullest town you could imagine so I decided to ditch the police for corrections."

"It seemed far safer at the time," Wilson's wife said.

Fenton offered her a smile to cover up for the fact he was utterly drawing a blank on her name. Wilson had left New York not long after he had completed his training. He'd not even known Laura when Wilson left.

"And it was safe. Years without incident until those monstrous riots."

Frank and Joe froze, abandoning their attempt to sneak away. Joe pivoted on his heel and stared at Wilson for a moment.

"What riots?" he asked.

"I was a guard at St Jerome's Penitentiary. We had a series of riots. That's where I got my leg and why me and my fine wife have decided to take an extended vacation."

Laura's brow immediately furrowed.

"That's a maximum-security prison, isn't it? I didn't see anything about it on the news."

Wilson nodded and admitted they were trying to keep it quiet.

"It was quite a fiasco. Two men dead. One man missing."

"Missing?" Fenton frowned. "Or escaped?"

He put a protective arm over Laura's shoulders and instinctively gave his sons the sort of look that meant they needed to stay nearby. Wilson glanced around for a moment before leaning closer.

"Escaped. We think. But he was in maximum security for his own protection rather than ours. He was a conman who had made enemies when he turned in his conspirators. It is nothing you need to worry about."

Fenton nodded before telling Wilson that he should probably be getting home before too many journalists showed up.

Wilson nodded. He held out his hand for Fenton to shake.

"It has been a pleasure seeing you again and meeting your family. Perhaps we should meet up while I'm in town, provided you aren't too busy."


So there it is, the first chapter of Blood of Apollo. I really hope you enjoy it. Please read and review!