by S. L. Stacy
“He can’t hurt you,” Dolos says. “I won’t let him.”
“Neither will I.” We sit quietly for a few minutes, the silence punctuated by the occasional angry blare of a car horn, the squeal of tires, drunken cursing. When I finally glance over at him again, Dolos is staring off into space, bright green eyes glazed and dreamy.
I snap my fingers in front of his face. He gives a start and scowls at me. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you? About that crazy-haired halfling.”
“Her name is Carly. And, yes, I am thinking about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I lo—”
I clamp a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say you love her.”
Dolos pries my hand from his face. “I love her.”
“We don’t fall in love with humans and halflings,” I scold him. “We can play with them for a while. But we do not fall in love. It’s too…dangerous.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Of course not.” For a moment, instead of my brother, I think I see Jimmy cocking an eyebrow at me, challenging me with his hazel eyes, frowning at me with those sexy, stubborn lips. I shake my head to dissolve the vision. “They can’t love us back. We’re just fantasies to them. They’ll let us do whatever we want to them in the safety of night, but come morning, we don’t exist.”
“It’s not like that with us. I love Carly, and she loves me. Or she did, at least.” Dolos shifts his eyes to the black ribbon of street below. “Before we parted ways, I said some things to her I shouldn’t have.”
“Dolos—”
“No, Apate. You don’t understand. I felt so alone, so hopeless down there, and then Fate—She brought Carly to me.”
I smack my brother in the head, once again jolting him from his miserable thoughts. “It wasn’t Fate, dipshit. It was me. I sent Carly to you.”
“But you…you couldn’t have!”
“When I prepped the Sigma Iotas for the sacrifice, I made sure they used one of the Gammas as their offering. Just in case Nike’s chickens reneged on our deal. And for you, I made sure it was Carly.” I feel myself grinning with satisfaction. “I knew you’d like her.”
“I still think it was meant to be—that something beyond your control was at work. That’s your problem, sister mine,” Dolos says in response to my aggravated sigh. “You don’t believe in something bigger than yourself. A greater force. Fate. The humans say it’s God. Whatever you want to call it.”
I thrust my chin out in disgust and get to my feet, looking down at a tiny car pulling up to the curb. From this distance, it looks like a toy, as do the two people getting out of it, scuttling up to the building across the street. “We don’t need God. We are gods.”
Revenge
“By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.”
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Chapter 1
The Other Side of the Room
Rebecca.
I awake with a start and sit straight up in bed, breathing hard. Reaching a hand out toward the nightstand, I search blindly for the lamp, almost knocking it over in my haste. I turn it on, and the bedroom fills with a pale light. The beauty products and other items littering the nightstand cast gray shadows on the wall behind it. My own shadow crouches beside me, dark and blurred around the edges, shaking right along with me as I rock back and forth in bed.
My eyes wander to the other side of the room, to a naked blue mattress, an uncluttered desk and bureau, an empty closet. Genie’s side. Genie Cho was the president of our sorority, Alpha Rho, and my roommate. My friend. Just a few weeks ago, this room was filled with laughter and nonstop conversation as Genie and I talked about all of the amazing things that were going to happen this semester.
A few weeks later, she was dead.
I had never known anyone who had died before—certainly no one who had gone way before their time. Genie always had a smile on her face, her cheerful presence bringing sunshine to even the dreariest of days. Until the day the clouds didn’t lift, and she was just…gone.
We held a vigil after the accident to mourn the loss of our Alpha Rho sister. Then there was the funeral out in the suburbs, where Genie grew up and her parents still lived. They own a local chain of Korean restaurants and have two other children: Genie’s younger brother and sister, both in high school. My stomach twists itself into a knot at the memory of Mrs. Cho’s unceasing sobs, their echo stirring a fresh wave of agony inside me.
At first, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in here and crashed temporarily on the living room couch. A few days ago, I moved back into our—my—room, wanting to prove to myself as much as to my sorority sisters that I was brave. My sleep has been fitful, the nights long and silent without the creak of a door and the sound of tentative footsteps. Genie was always something of a night owl, even before she started hanging out the wrong crowd. The other side of the room is a constant reminder of her death. It’s not the same without Genie’s small voice sounding from underneath the covers, telling me, “Sweet dreams, Becks!”
Only sometimes—during my muddled descent into sleep—I do think I hear Genie whispering my name, just like I did before I woke up a few minutes ago. She sounds very far away, like she’s calling to me from the other side of a glass wall. I thought I heard her voice my first night alone in here, back when her half of the room still overflowed with the stuff she left behind: laundry, stacks of books, her laptop, clothes, shoes. That was also the first night I took refuge on the couch. Now that I’ve moved back in, the dreams have started up again.
Shutting my eyes, I listen intently. There’s only silence now.
I turn off the lamp and lay back down, curling up on my side. Sleep returns, wrapping misty tendrils around my consciousness, pulling it down into a calm, black ocean. Somewhere beneath the dark waters, she calls to me again.
Rebecca.
I ignore her cries. It’s only a nightmare. Genie is gone. She’s never coming back.
Rebecca. Sister. Help me.
“Genie.” Still mostly asleep, I’m vaguely aware of saying her name out loud.
Becky, please. It’s so cold here. I need your help.
“Genie’s dead.” I’m jarred awake for the second time, finding my chin in a puddle of drool. I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my pajama top and sit up. A shiver caresses my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I don’t remember leaving the window open.
“Becky!”
I look up at the sound of my name.
And scream.
Chapter 2
Gods and Ghosts
Our neighbors, the Gamma Lambda Phis, think they’re the only sorority at Thurston University with secrets. Descendants of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory, they’re charged with guarding the walls between our realm and that of the gods.
But, as I only recently discovered, Alpha Rho isn’t your typical sorority, either. We’re Nereids, or water nymphs, descended from Nereus and Doris, and Earth’s second line of defense against otherworldly intruders. We can walk the earth as humans or transform into creatures of the sea. Genie was the first to learn of our sorority’s supernatural roots, a discovery that quickly became her obsession, and ultimately led to her death.
Genie now hovers in midair at the foot of my bed, eyes black and rimmed with orange, like two glowing coals. Her black hair looks damp and clings to a neck covered in scales. Half of her body is human—two tan arms, a naked torso, and one slim leg. Instead of a second leg, part of a long, eel-like fin dangles from her body, its silver scales caked with blood. I can see through her to my bureau and the bedroom door.
“I need your help, Becky,” Genie pleads, tears streaming down her cheeks. I can’t stop screaming.
I jump at the sound of fists pounding on the door. “Rebecca?” another voice calls to me. “Open the door.” The knob jiggles. The vision of Genie disappears, and the next scream in my throat fades into a strangled hiccup. “Open this
fucking door, Rebecca!” Samantha shouts, the door knob jerking so hard I wonder if it will break off.
“Coming!” Getting up, I flip on the ceiling light and open the door. Sam practically falls inside, her short, dark blonde hair in disarray from sleep.
“What the hell happened?” she asks me, closing the door behind her.
I use both thumbs to wipe away my tears. “I saw her. I saw Genie.”
“You had a bad dream,” Sam says. I shake my head furiously as I sit back down on the bed. Sam throws herself in my desk chair.
“I saw her. Right there,” I say, pointing to where Genie floated at the foot of the bed. “She was part human, part nymph. I could see through her.”
“Becky, listen to yourself. Genie’s…Genie’s dead.” Sam’s voice cracks on the last word. “There’s no one here. No one’s in your room.”
“She said my name.” I reach for a tissue and dab it on both cheeks. “She said she needed help!”
Sam looks to the spot where I said I saw Genie. “That’s impossible,” she whispers.
“We’ve seen a lot of impossible things lately,” I remind her. “We’ve done impossible things.”
“I draw the line at ghosts. The dead can’t come back. They can’t communicate with us.”
I pick up my pillow, clutching it to my chest. “I’m going to sleep downstairs.”
“Rebecca.” Sam sighs, following me out into the hall. “It was just a bad dream. You—we—can’t be scared anymore. We can’t be sad. You know Genie—she’d want us to remember the good times, not the bad. We have to go on, for her. For ourselves.”
Paused on the stairs, I look back at her. “What if it was her, Sam? What if she’s stuck somewhere and needs our help?”
Biting her lip, Samantha shakes her head, refusing to believe it. “There are no such things as ghosts.”
I bury my face into the pillow I’m holding, stifling a groan of frustration. “You’re right,” I tell her, lifting my head. “I must…I must have been dreaming. I think I’ll sleep better downstairs. Goodnight, Sam.” I start down the stairs again.
“Sweet dreams,” Sam says to my back, the words sending another chill through me.
Folded up on the couch, I try to fall asleep, but every time I close my eyes I see Genie’s empty black ones. I toss and turn until sunlight presses against the blinds the next morning, finally burning up the lingering memory of the ghost.
Chapter 3
No Such Things
I’ll never forget the eager spark in Genie’s eyes when she first showed me the book.
“I met this guy at a bar the other day. He gave me this,” she told me as she dropped the book on my desk. I twisted in my chair to look at it.
“An old book?” I said, running my fingers over the worn, leather cover. “Usually they just buy you a drink.”
“It’s not like that,” she insisted. “Although he is gorgeous. Probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Tall, built. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Anyway”—she shook herself, regaining focus—“he’s…different.”
“You can just say ‘gay,’ Genie.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s not gay. He’s not human.”
I pulled my hand away from the book, feeling suddenly cold. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s from another world! And he said that I was, too. Well, not literally, but that I was a descendant. Some humans are. A long time ago, their species mixed with ours.”
“Whoa,” I remember saying, making a calming motion with my hand. “Slow down. This sounds crazy. I think this guy—whoever he is—is playing games with you.”
But Genie just shook her head. “He’s from a world called Olympus. They’re gods, Becky,” she said, taking my hands in hers. “They live forever, and they have special powers. I have special powers. You might have them, too!”
I bit my lower lip, hard, tasting blood. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s all in here,” she insisted, dropping my hands. She pointed to the book. “Look at the inscription.”
Looking again, I noticed the small, gold Greek capital letters set into the cover: ΑΡ. Alpha Rho.
“I don’t care what he says or what’s in this book,” I told her. “I know I don’t have any special powers. And neither do you.”
Genie’s small, pink mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. A moment later, the skin on her neck and arms erupted with silver scales. I felt my lunch come back up, leaving a sour taste in the back of my throat.
“What…how did you…” I peered closely at her neck, at the flaps of scaly skin that flared out every few seconds. “You have gills. And scales.”
“Told you so,” Genie said, sticking out her tongue. “I have a fin, too, when I transform all the way. It’s so cool!”
***
Now, I sit in the living room on my makeshift bed, the same book cradled in my lap as I turn page after yellowed page. Looking for something that might tell me how or why I might have seen—or thought I saw—Genie’s ghost. The thin pages are covered in tiny, unfamiliar symbols, not Greek nor any other language ever spoken or written on Earth. An alien language. Someone has gone through and written translations of some of the passages in the margins, or on extra pieces of paper stuck in between the pages. Still, there’s nothing that explains what I saw in my bedroom last night.
“There are no such things as ghosts.” Sam’s assertion was correct, in a way. According to Genie’s book, when humans die, their souls get recycled and reborn into another body, although they have no memory of their past lives. When an Olympian or a halfling, like Genie—like me—dies, she disappears for good. There’s nothing left behind, no soul to get recycled. I close the tome, a familiar hollowness expanding in my chest. Genie is as gone as it’s possible to be.
A chill sweeps over me, raising the hairs on my arms. My ears prick at the gentle, steady rush of water sounding from the kitchen. I’m alone downstairs, and no one has left or come back to the sorority house since I’ve been sitting here.
Setting the book down, I get up and creep toward the kitchen, my heart giving a thump of warning in my chest. Reaching the doorway, I brace myself against the wall, shutting my eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness. The hiss of water from the faucet has become a roar pounding against my ears, crashing over me from all sides. I taste iron on my tongue and feel a dampness on my skin, my nasal cavity burning like I’ve just inhaled water. I get the sensation of falling, of drowning in a tumultuous sea, unable to fight against the violent current pulling me downwards…
Just as abruptly as it started, the hallucination ends. Breathing normally again, I open my eyes, looking immediately to the sink.
The faucet is turned off.
Disoriented and confused, I turn around to head back to the couch, needing to rest for a bit and collect myself. I’ve barely taken one step when my eyes go to the opposite wall, unable at first to process the wet, scarlet red letters scrawled across the pale blue wallpaper:
Help Me
Chapter 4
The Writing on the Wall
“There.” I keep my head turned away as I point to the message. “It’s written—it’s written in blood,” I add, swallowing a bout of nausea. Sam’s head gives a slight jerk back as she processes the words, mouth slowly falling open. A moment later, her brow furrows, and she sighs almost in annoyance.
“Relax,” she says. “It’s just paint.”
“But it looks like—”
“The red paint in that can over there,” Sam talks over me. I follow her gaze to the small, open can of bright red paint sitting in the corner, a wooden brush handle sticking out of it. I take a deep breath, the paint fumes making my head spin. That explains my dizzy spell. It does not, however, explain the rest of the hallucination.
Footsteps sound on the stairs, drawing our attention away from the mysterious message. Gwen walks into the living room, barefoot and w
earing cupcake-printed pajamas. Her thick, dark brown hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, loose strands sticking out all over the place. “Hey, guys!” she says cheerily when she sees us. “What are you—”
“Did you do this?” Sam asks her, thrusting a hand in the direction of the message. Gwen takes a step back, looking over at the wall. She reads the words silently, brown eyes fearful.
“No! Of course not,” she says, meeting Sam’s accusatory gaze.
“Well, do you know who did?”
Gwen shakes her head. “I pulled an all-nighter. Crashed at six this morning. I just woke up.”
“What’s the paint doing out?”
“Sam—” I try to reason with her, but a warning glance from Sam cuts me off.
“If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it isn’t funny. It scared you,” she says to me, “and it’s no wonder, with everything that’s happened. This isn’t a time for messing around. We’re going to get to the bottom of it.”
“Some of the girls were making signs last night.” Gwen finally manages to get a word in, her voice small. “For the new members.” Sam nods, seeming to accept this. “Why? Who do you think did it?”
“I think I know who did it,” I say. Ignoring the slight shake of Sam’s head, I continue, “It’s Genie. She’s trying to get in touch with us. She needs our help.”
“We don’t know for sure that it’s Genie,” Sam insists, sounding baffled.
“Maybe not, but what other explanation is there right now? First I hear Genie’s voice, then I see her in our room. Now this? We have to at least try to make contact with her. If she’s in some kind of danger, maybe we can help.”
“You saw her?” Gwen exclaims.
