by S. L. Stacy
I glance at her, then back at the cars whizzing by. “Yeah, that’s where I’m going now.” I do a double take, lifting my chin up a bit to meet the smiling dark gaze of the woman standing next to me. She has coppery skin and shiny black hair plaited down her back in a thick braid. With her athletic body encased in a suit of armor, she looks more than a little out of place and, for that matter, time. I recognize her from Psyche’s wedding, and from a few other memories of family gatherings starting to trickle back. Her name springs suddenly to my lips. “Athena.”
“Psyche,” she says almost at the same time, giving a smile of recognition. Her armor clangs as she stoops to hug me. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”
“You, too. Oh, and it’s Siobhan now,” I tell her as we pull away.
“Siobhan.” She tries it out, her smile widening. “That’s very pretty.”
“Anyway—follow me.” We hurry across the road, reaching the other side just as another wave of traffic hits. With every step we take toward the house, Athena’s armor gives a metallic squeak.
Athena winces. “Sorry I’m so noisy.”
“No problem,” I assure her. “It’s always good to…be prepared.” You know, just in case we’re attacked by bandits on the Greek Quad, I add in my head, hating how awkward I just sounded. She probably thinks I’m an idiot.
Someone whistles from Eta Tau Upsilon’s patio. “Hey, Mulan!” one of the brothers yells, waving at us. “Shade Con isn’t until October!”
Athena gives a hesitant wave back. I bat her hand down. “Don’t wave at him. He’s being a jerk. And a little bit racist.”
“Jerk?” she echoes as I coax her into the Gamma Lambda Phi house.
The hopeful mood running into Athena has put me in is short-lived, erased when I find Farrah sitting with the pledges in the living room, probably giving them a lesson in How to be a Nosey, Manipulative Skank. Farrah rises immediately as we come inside, her pale eyebrows arched suspiciously.
“Athena.” Farrah glides over to us, giving Athena a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, isn’t this a…surprise. I didn’t expect to see you so soon after the council meeting. What brings you here?”
Athena’s smile is equally as forced. “You said you needed my help, so I came as quickly as I could.”
“That’s so sweet of you, dear—really.” Farrah clasps her hands together, squeezing until her knuckles turn white. “But we’re doing just fine here and don’t really need any extra hands. It’s so kind of you to offer, though. So thoughtful.”
The corners of Athena’s mouth twitch uncertainly. “But I got a note from you saying everything was falling apart here, and that you desperately needed my help!”
“I assure you, no one here sent anything of the kind—”
“I did,” Victoria says, flying down the stairs. “I sent the note. Hey, you.” She looks a bit breathless as she gives Athena a huge grin.
“Oh,” Farrah falters, glaring at her daughter underneath the heavy fringe of her eyelashes.
“I should have known,” Athena sighs, not looking the least bit annoyed as she meets Victoria’s relieved gaze. “You know you really shouldn’t have done that. You took quite a chance.”
“It was worth it,” Victoria maintains, walking further into the room. “We need you.”
“Or you need her,” Farrah mutters. “Well, if you’re here to stay, you’re going to need something to wear other than that,” she continues, nose wrinkling as her eyes peruse Athena’s armor. She disappears into her bedroom. We wait in silence as drawers open and bang shut again, then Farrah emerges with a pair of jeans and a top strung over her arm. “Here. I’m sure they’ll be a little small on you, but they’ll do for now.” Farrah hurls the clothes toward Athena, who gives a small jump of surprise as she catches them.
Victoria motions to her, starting up the stairs. “Come on. You can change in my room—”
“While you stay down here,” Farrah snaps.
Victoria’s face turns bright red. “Second floor, Room D. It’s unlocked.”
“Thanks,” Athena tells Farrah. She winks at Victoria, then clangs upstairs.
“Can I see you for a minute?” Farrah grabs Victoria’s arm without giving her a chance to respond and drags her into the kitchen.
“How’s everybody doing?” I sit down on the couch amongst the pledges, hoping to diffuse the tension that’s built up in the room. Once again, they’ve sat innocently by while we’ve bickered amongst ourselves. They’re going to think it’s like this all the time. “Oooo, what’s that?” I ask Harriet, pointing to the shiny beaded bag she’s fiddling with in her lap.
“Just a little present from Farrah,” Harriet says, brandishing a mascara wand.
So much for diffusing the tension. “Give that to me!” Harriet hands me the bag. I peer inside to find it stuffed with tubes of lipstick, palettes of eye shadow and blush, and a few bottles of neon nail polish. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Harriet. That was really inappropriate of her.”
Harriet shrugs, unfazed. “She’s probably right. I could use a makeover.”
“She said that?” I narrow my eyes in the direction of the now closed kitchen door. Victoria and Farrah’s muffled voices clash on the other side.
“I can help!” Maddie puts in, beaming at the prospect of a makeover.
“Um, thanks, Maddie, but only if Harriet wants to. You don’t have to,” I tell her, setting the bag on the end table. “Joining Gamma Lambda Phi doesn’t mean changing who you are.” Well, except for the whole embracing-your-Olympian-heritage thing, I realize, but I decide to leave that little reminder out for now.
“Thanks, Siobhan,” Harriet says, unsmiling but sounding sincere enough. “But it’s okay—really.”
“If you say so.” The walls seem to shudder as something bangs in the basement, startling all of us. “We really need to get those pipes fixed.”
Farrah stalks out of the kitchen and up the stairs, presumably to check in on Athena and maybe talk her into leaving. A defeated-looking Victoria emerges behind her just as someone pushes through the front door. Tanya and the other members of the executive board join us in the living room.
“Good, you’re here,” Victoria says, positioning herself in front of us. “We need to talk. Regroup. First off, I thought I knew who leaked that story on The Grapevine, but I…I was wrong.” She looks at me apologetically. “But someone did, and I want to find out who. Does anyone have a thought? Any theory at all?”
Tanya raises a tan arm. “I do. I think we have a mole.”
Victoria sighs, auburn ponytail swinging as she shakes her head. “Any other theories? I really don’t want to go there right now.”
“We have a mole. And I think it’s her.” Tanya points an accusing finger at Harriet.
Harriet stares at the finger, large brown eyes unblinking. As always, her expression is hard to read. I move closer to her, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Cut it out, Twin. We do not have a mole—and even if we did, it certainly can’t be one of our pledges. It can’t be Harriet!”
“Oh, come on. All she’s done since she got here is been creepy and quiet! I’m telling you, it’s her!”
“Okay. Fine. Let’s say it is one of our pledges. Why does it have to be Harriet? Maybe it’s your precious little.”
Tanya brings a hand to her chest, gasping dramatically. “How dare you—”
“I think it’s Liz!” someone else shouts.
Liz balks. “It wasn’t me! I swear!”
It’s not long before all of us are yelling over each other, blurting names, pointer fingers flying everywhere. Tanya’s not completely wrong about Harriet: She sits on the couch, hands folded in her lap, quietly judging us. Maddie has burst into tears, and I feel like the most horrible person ever. I shouldn’t have used her to annoy Tanya.
“Quiet!” Victoria bellows above the din, instantly silencing all of us. “Just take some time and think about it. If you remember something, let me know in p
rivate. It probably wasn’t anyone here, but if it was, I’m sure it was just an accident. Moving on. That particular post—whether it meant to or not—makes us look pretty bad. Now, more than ever, we need to figure out how we’re going to deal with the Alpha Rhos. And find Carly.”
“That reminds me,” I say, standing up, “I don’t think it was the Alpha Rhos.”
Victoria crosses her arms. “Elaborate.”
“I mean, I did, but then I really got to thinking about it,” I stall, realizing how difficult this is going to be to explain without mentioning the necklace and what happened last night. “Sure, the Alpha Rhos have it out for us, but I don’t think they’d hurt anyone to avenge Genie’s death. I—I think it was Eric’s army.”
“That does make a whole lot more sense,” Liz seconds.
But Victoria just shakes her head again. “What army? With Jasper out of the picture”—at the mention of his name, my heart skips a guilty beat—“Liz back with us, and Genie…gone, they don’t have much of an army left. It can’t be them.”
“Jasper had ingratiated himself into an entire fraternity here before we stepped in,” I insist, gesturing toward the window—toward the Sigma Iota house. “I just have this strong feeling they had something to do with it. You should have seen how strangely Alec was acting—”
“We can’t act on a feeling, however strong,” Victoria cuts me off. “The Alpha Rhos had motive. Samantha had Carly’s phone on her person. We know it was them. We just have to decide what we’re going to do about it.”
“Siobhan’s right,” Tanya says, hunching her shoulders guiltily. “We were at the Sigma Iota party the night before we realized Carly was missing.”
“You. Were. Where—” An urgent pounding on the door interrupts Victoria’s impending freak out. “Someone get that!” she barks. To everyone’s surprise, Harriet jumps up and runs to the door. She’s barely opened it when Max comes tumbling through, blue eyes frantic, hair sticking up all over his head from hours and hours of running his hands through it.
“Max, what are you doing here?” I ask, forcing a calm I don’t feel. From his disheveled appearance, I don’t think he’s here about me—but still, I can never be too sure.
“He’s taken her,” Max gasps, his freckled cheeks glistening with both sweat and tears. “Eric’s taken Vanessa.”
Chapter 25
I’m stretched out on a beach towel, a tangy ocean breeze ruffling my face.
The dimly lit throne room was getting old, fast, so I finally let Dolos create this illusion of an Olympian beach, a.k.a. paradise. The water is a crystalline aquamarine, the blue sky cloudless. The sand feels silky as I let it sift between my toes and fingers. A pair of rhinestone studded sunglasses shields my eyes from the sun. Somehow I ended up in a skimpy red bikini, but, since it’s not even real, I decide to let it slide.
Dolos lies on his own beach towel a few feet away, arms underneath his head, eyes closed. He’s still wearing the leather pants, but the vest is gone, his sculpted abs shimmering a faint gold in the sunlight. I had thought, now that the jig is up, he would have revealed his true self to me. Shed the leather and the platinum blonde hair that make him look like some flamboyant punk rock star. An image that, now that I’m thinking about it, he probably got from me.
Every once in a while, there’s a ripple in the air that briefly disrupts the carefully constructed illusion. For a moment, I see a sliver of the black abyss beyond before the white sand and the whispering ocean settle back into place. I don’t remember seeing these disturbances before; otherwise, I might have caught on more quickly that something wasn’t right. Or maybe they were always there. I’m not always the most observant person ever.
“Hey.” I pick up a smooth, cloudy pink pebble and chuck it at Dolos. It taps his arm before dropping to the ground. “How’s it going over there?”
Dolos just groans, freeing one of his arms and draping it across his face. He rolls onto his side, turning his back to me.
“He chooses now to ignore me,” I grumble as I stand up. I tiptoe over the hot sand to his towel. I nudge his leg with my toe. “Hey. You’re so quiet over here. Something must be wrong.” I keep my tone playful, while inside my guts are clenching. Kneeling beside him, I place a palm on his back. His skin is clammy and feverish, and not just from the scorching, simulated sun.
“I’m fine,” he says, pulling away from me. “Leave me alone.”
Dropping my hand, I gaze out over the sea. There’s a flicker of black as one of the foamy waves pushing up against the beach dissolves, pixelating like a television screen with bad reception. A few beats later, the wave pieces back together as it recedes from the sand.
“You’re having trouble maintaining the illusion,” I realize. “You’re getting weak.” He flops over on his back again and narrows his eyes at me. “It’s just, sometimes I forget you’ve been down here a lot longer than me.”
Dolos winces as he sits up. “It requires a little more strength to keep it constantly going for someone else,” he admits. He rubs his lips together and lowers his gaze to the sand. There’s something else besides the simple, logical explanation he just gave me—something he doesn’t want me to know.
“Let me help. It might be easier if you take one of my memories instead of using your own.” I bring the memory of one of my favorite places to the forefront of my mind. “Here. Use this one.”
He nods. An instant later, the beach is gone, and we’re standing on a cobblestone path. It’s hard to tell what Dolos is thinking as he looks around the lush garden with indifferent eyes. The air here is just like I remember—cool, unadulterated, and sweet with the fragrances of lavender and mint from the herb garden. All around us, my grandfather’s rose bushes are brimming with velvety petals in every shade imaginable: gentle pinks, blood reds, sunny yellows, even blues and purples. The roses of one bush are so dark, they look almost black.
“My grandparents’ garden,” I tell him. I take his hand. “Come on.” I lead him to the small stone gazebo in the center of the garden, where we sit on the wicker love seat.
“I used to love coming out here when we would visit,” I continue, curling my legs under me. Instead of the bikini, I’m suddenly wearing a long, gauzy white dress with lacey cap sleeves. “I would help my grandma plant the herbs or pick some flowers for the house. She passed away when I was in middle school. My grandpa was heartbroken. He died a few years later.”
Dolos picks at an imaginary thread on his pants. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“It’s alright. It’s comforting to have the memory of them. Of their strength and love.” I look out over the garden as I feel tears prick my eyes. It’s been a long time since I thought about any of this. “Sometimes, I would sit out here and just look at everything, take it all in. It was so beautiful and peaceful. It was my escape—my special place.”
Dolos doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, he asks, “You would sit out here all by yourself? Didn’t you get lonely?”
“Not really. I like having time to myself.” I shrug. “I guess I live in my head a lot, anyway—and out here, there was magic. There were secrets waiting to be uncovered. I’m sorry. This probably all sounds really stupid—”
“No.” Dolos takes my hand and squeezes it. “It doesn’t.”
Heat rushes to my face as I look at our interlocked fingers. Dolos releases my hand, and we look away from each other.
“I do remember wishing that I had someone to share it with—the garden, the magic. Someone besides my annoying little sister,” I add with a laugh. “A secret friend who could whisk me off to some fantastical land. I guess I should be careful what I wish for, huh?”
I hear the rustle of leaves and the crisp snap of a stem being broken. “I’m not so bad,” Dolos says playfully. I look up as he gently brushes a few curls of my hair aside, tucking one of the black red roses behind my ear.
I can’t help but smile as I reach up, grazing the dewy petals with my fingers. “No. You’re not.”
Dolos props his elbow on the arm of the love seat and cradles his head in his hand. His face has taken on a chalky pallor and glistens with sweat. The skin underneath his eyes is blue and purple. I saw him like this once before—when I woke up, back in the throne room, convinced he had tricked me into losing. Later, I thought it had all been a dream.
What had he said? “There’s nothing we can do. No way. No way out. We’ve tried before.”
“You’ve been here before,” I say, my voice going up slightly at the end even though I know it’s true. “I mean, not here”—I gesture around the garden—“but in the space between the universes.”
“My mother locked me and my brothers and sisters away here when we were children,” he says without any inflection.
Victoria had said something about Apate and her siblings having a “crappy childhood”—that was an understatement. So Eric’s imprisoned him in the same place his mother did when he was little. “That’s awful. That’s so—so evil.”
“She thought we were the evil ones. And she was probably right. All we could offer the world was deception, suffering, doom, death—among other things.” His story is starting to sound familiar. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before,” he says in response to my thought. “It’s a popular Greek myth—Pandora’s Box—although it’s been changed over time. Pandora wasn’t the girl; it’s the place. And the ‘box’ is more of a jar.”
“How did you get out the first time?”
“That’s where the girl comes into play. She wasn’t really anyone special—just a normal, human girl. She stumbled upon a way in and let us out. It was an accident. But if it wasn’t for her…” He trails off and closes his eyes, not wanting to think about what would have become of them if no one had ever let them out.
“So there really isn’t a way out of here, unless someone rescues us,” I say. Dolos nods bleakly. “Well, that stinks.”
His shoulders shake with silent, bitter laughter. “You could say that.”
I think about my sorority sisters, who I’m sure have no idea what happened to me—have no idea where to even start looking. “Does Apate know where you are?”
