We lay in silence for a moment, somewhere between life and death.
“How long do I have?”
“A minute,” she whispers. “Maybe two. The wound is deep. And it was made by Ares. Wounds from his weapons don’t heal.”
“Will it hurt?”
“No more than usual. I suppose that’s a benefit of this curse of yours. You may experience death, over and over, with no rest like most humans are gifted, but at least you also build up an immunity to the pain.”
She says it more like a question as if she isn’t sure if her deduction is right.
It’s not.
“Why can’t you just take me?” I ask. “Why do I have to wake up?”
Her fingers pause, for just a moment, long enough to tell me she’s hesitating. Does Persephone, of all the gods, feel sorry for me?
“I wish I could,” she whispers softly, pressing her lips against my forehead. “But your soul is not for us to take. Not yet. Just rest. Let the feeling take you away. It’ll be over soon.”
“I’ll just come right back. The curse...”
“Oh, my love. You don’t know your power, do you?”
Time may be still but I’m still dying, and I can feel myself slipping away. Each death may be different, but at the same time, they all come down to one central point.
I just want to get it over with.
“I suspect you’ll learn it very soon,” she whispers, her voice so far away I almost think I imagine it. But Ares’ familiar aura, that feels like pressure against my chest, is there. Time returns. And Persephone’s warmth is gone.
And so is the pain.
Everything happens in reverse. My vision returns. The coldness of my fingers is gone. And the bleeding? That slows down, too. The world is more vibrant and bursting with color. Sounds are like electric pops right against my ears.
And Ares is holding me. My back against his chest, laying between his outstretched legs, Athena nowhere to be seen.
“She’s gone,” he said, answering my question. “Athena. She isn’t worth it. Not if it means losing you.”
I flex my fingers, looking at the palm and then the back of my hand. My digits shake, just slightly, and my vision is still blurry around the edges.
“Valor,” he says. “Adrenaline is pumping through your body. I can’t stop what’s happening, but I can slow it down. Give you—give us—a few more seconds.”
He’s right. Just a few more seconds. The corners of my eyes are already starting to darken again and the pain, though distant, is there. And growing.
“Why?”
“Because of love,” a new voice says.
Both Ares and I look toward the voice, which belongs to a woman with skin as dark as my own and beautiful braids. She’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket on top of a white shirt with graffiti lettering that says, All you need is love.
Ares grips me tighter, and snarls. “You did this.”
“I would argue your sword is what did it, Ares, not my gift,” Aphrodite says, approaching us both. She kneels down next to me, her brown-tinted hand stroking my cheek. Her touch is warm and her body smells of vanilla, my favorite. Her lips curl into a warm, almost sad smile.
“You proved me wrong, Carson,” she speaks softly. “A boy who is willing to end his life for a god. A god willing to ignore his purpose for a human. I didn’t think it was possible for a god to love a human, and vice versa, as much as you two love each other.
“So, I have a proposition for you two. If you’re interested.”
The coldness, darkness and pain return, along with the bleeding. Ares puts both hands on my wound, as if his hands could push the blood back in. He adds pressure, which makes me whimper loudly, and does the opposite, only pushing more blood out of the gaping hole. For the first time in his eyes, I see panic. Pain. Fear.
“One more time. One more life. I’ll wipe your memories of each other, even yours, Ares, and we’ll work with the Fates to orchestrate a situation to make your threads intertwine. Prove to me this isn’t an anomaly. Prove that love truly always wins.”
“And if we do?” I ask.
“Immortality. No new lives. No rebirth. You’ll get the status of a demi-god with no allegiance to anyone but yourself.”
“And if we fail?” Ares asks.
“Since when you do fail a challenge, Ares?”
This time, instead of words leaving my mouth, a gurgling sound of blood and a whimper mix together. Ares looks down, using his sleeve to wipe my lips. He is looking only at me, not her anymore.
“So, what do you say?” Aphrodite asks.
I ignore the question and focus on nodding, showing her I accept the terms.
Aphrodite says something that sounds like confirmation. Ares squeezes me tighter, so tight I think my bones might break, but I can’t feel any more pain. I can barely feel him. Or see him. Or hear him.
But I do hear the last three things he says:
“I need you.”
“I’ll find you.”
“I love you, Theo.”
Before it all goes dark and I awake, with a gasp.
To the strange, almost nauseatingly strong smell of sharpened steel.
* * *
ONE SPELL TOO MANY
by
Tara Sim
Anna tasted her buttercream frosting and decided it needed a pinch more spite.
Opening the cabinet above her head, she rooted through the mason jars and spice shakers until she found it: a jar of marjoram. She took out a sprig and placed it carefully into her stone mortar.
“Antithesis,” she muttered to herself, snapping her fingers as she tried to remember what to add to the spell. “Ah, right.”
She grabbed the pepper mill and twisted it once over the herb. The final touch was a single leaf from a bitter melon. With everything properly gathered, she began to smash the ingredients together with the pestle.
“A taste of revenge most bitter and sweet,” she recited as she ground up the marjoram, “let one bite lead to where dreams and dismay meet.”
Once the herb was finely ground, she sprinkled the spell into her red velvet batter. It was much harder to identify a spell in batter than it was to taste it in the frosting, so that was where she always put it. The flavor was more subtle once baked, and there were others out there who, like Anna, lived for the moment they could lick all the frosting off their forks. Anna hummed as she stirred in the spell, a small smile on her face. Revenge cakes were one of her favorite things to bake.
Carlin popped their head into the kitchen while Anna poured the batter into springform pans. “You getting the Scarlet order ready?”
Some customers liked to keep their orders confidential, so she and Carlin used codenames. “About to go in the oven.”
“Great. I need to step out for fifteen, can you cover the front?”
Anna gently tapped the pans against the counter to get rid of air bubbles. “As long as I get to check on the cakes.”
“No, I want my customers to get burned baked goods,” Carlin said while rolling their eyes. “Whatever you need to do.”
Anna slid the pans into the oven and took off her apron. She patted her bun of black hair to make sure it was still doing its job and followed Carlin to the front of the shop.
Sorcerous Sweets was Carlin’s pride and joy; the bakery had been around for at least a decade, and was regularly voted the best in the county. Business had always been good, but it had exploded two years ago when Carlin had competed on Cake Combat, a television baking competition, and won.
That was when they had hired Anna to help out. She had been a sophomore in high school without any previous experience other than helping her kitchen witch father with recipes and spells. But she had proven herself to Carlin with an exceptionally made plate of macarons, each infused with a different sp
ell and flavor.
Now in her senior year, Anna was well on her way to getting into her dream school: Gramoire, a college devoted to kitchen witches of all sorts, which had the best bakery program in North America. All she needed was a letter of recommendation from Carlin, and she was sure to get accepted.
She hadn’t gotten around to asking them, though, on account of how busy they had been. Her deadline wasn’t for a couple more months, anyway—she could wait.
Anna smoothed out her skirt and situated herself behind the display case. Under the spotless glass was an impressive array of cakes, cream puffs, macarons (and –roons, for that matter), cookies, and Carlin’s specialty: cinnamon rolls as big as her head.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Carlin said as they shrugged on their coat. “Don’t let the place burn down.”
She saluted. “I will do my best.”
Once they were gone, Anna sighed and leaned against the counter. It was the beginning of their slow period of the day, the strange sludge between 10:00 and 11:30 AM that carried over even into the weekends. Anna had no idea where people were supposed to be during that time—work? At the movies? An interdimensional rift in the multiverse?
As she was about to reach for a magazine, the bell on the door chimed. Emma shuffled in, her silver-and-purple hair gleaming under the fluorescent lighting of the shop.
“Ugh, this place always gives me a migraine,” Emma muttered, squinting at the cheerful, lime green walls and whitewashed chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Dressed in black leggings, boots, and leather jacket, Emma was like a walking, talking black hole about to devour the brightness of the shop. “How can you stand working here?”
Anna grinned. “Free desserts, obviously.”
“Oh. Good point.” Emma leaned her elbows on the counter, leaning in with a grin. “Heeey, Anna. You love me, right?”
Anna raised an eyebrow at her best friend. They had gone through a lot together; both of their parents were immigrants—Emma’s from Taiwan and Anna’s from Pakistan—and both of them were bi. Anna had once jokingly referred to them as Bi Besties, which Emma had promptly shut down with a swift pillow to the face.
So Anna knew that Emma’s tone meant trouble on the horizon.
“Depends,” Anna drawled. “What do you want?”
Emma pouted. “You sound like my mom when you say that.” She sighed and hopped up on the counter. “You know Riley, right?”
Anna couldn’t help but know a lot about Riley, considering how often Emma spoke about him. He was a senior at Preston High, like them, and was often cast in starring roles in their drama productions. Emma had been pining after him for months, even going so far as to drag Anna to every. Single. Performance. Of. The Crucible.
“You may have mentioned him once or twice,” Anna said.
“Okay, so...don’t be mad, but...I was wondering if I could call in a favor. You know, from the time I totally saved your ass from getting detention when you were selling daydream cupcakes at school?”
Anna groaned and almost rubbed her hands against her face, then remembered the amazing job she’d done on her winged eyeliner this morning. “Emma, what do you want?”
Emma clasped her hands before her. “Please make me a love spell? Please? Pretty please?”
“A what?” She suddenly got flashbacks of her father lecturing her on the evils of certain spells, and how they could range from harmless to harmful with just the slightest error. “Do you have any idea how tricky those are?”
“I mean...I’m not a witch, so no?” Emma shrugged. “I don’t need a big cake or anything, just one cupcake. Or even a mini cupcake!”
“Emma—”
“I know what you’re thinking: this is so creepy, making a guy eat a love potion. But they’re only temporary, right? I just want him to ask me to Homecoming, and that’s it, I swear.”
She made it sound so simple, but it was anything but. Anna had read all about love potions—how, depending on the witch and the intent with which they baked the spell, it could end up being one of the most sinister concoctions you could feed to someone.
But there were ways to counter that, of course. Adding fewer ingredients, keeping your thoughts pure as you mixed them... And, of course, making sure that the person who ate the spell accepted the baked good without being coerced. If they didn’t, or if the person giving the spell tried to force anything intimate without consent, the spell would immediately reverse.
Anna glared at her. Emma glared back. Anna had known her forever, knew full well that her best friend would never do anything...villainous. Besides, Emma had clearly said she wanted Riley to ask her, to have it be his idea. But while it was true that Emma had saved her from that daydream cupcake fiasco, to make something as questionable and complicated as a love potion...
Anna sighed. “Fine. But I’m mostly doing it for the challenge, understand? And I won’t be responsible for whatever happens.”
Emma leapt over the counter to hug her. “Thank you thank you thank you!”
“Okay, okay. Now let me get back to work before I change my mind.”
Once Emma was gone, the idea of the love potion teased her brain while she worked on constructing the revenge cake in the back. She frosted the layers, lost in thought while muscle memory took over. She would need to make the potion weak enough to last only a little while, enough of a time window for Riley to ask Emma to Homecoming.
Anna came back to the front with the cake box in her arms just as a woman wearing sunglasses walked in.
“Are you...Scarlet?” Anna guessed. The woman nodded. “I have your order right here.”
The woman paid in cash. While Anna counted out her change, she couldn’t help but ask, “May I know what it’s for?” She was always curious about what people intended to do with their spells.
The woman pressed her lips together, and Anna thought she wouldn’t respond. Then she whispered, “It’s for a company potluck. I hate everyone at the office. Pretty sure they’re going to fire me anyway.”
Anna choked over a snort. “I approve. Have fun.”
She waved to the woman as she hurried out of the store with her revenge cake. A boy held the door open for her before walking inside and taking a deep breath, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile at the smell of sugar all around him.
Anna’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. Noah.
He was in her grade at Preston. The two of them had often had classes together, making the leap from strangers to acquaintances. They exchanged smiles in the hallways, and sometimes even made small talk before class started.
Noah had no idea that Anna had had a crush on him since freshman year, back when he’d felt pressured to keep his hair long and wear skirts. Now that he was transitioning, Anna was blown away by how much more confident he was, how...how Noah he was.
Seeing her, he broke into a full grin. Even though her chest fluttered hopefully, she knew it was just a Noah grin; the smile he flashed at people whether he knew them or not. That was the kind of guy he was.
“Hey, Anna,” he said as he came up to the counter. “What’s new?”
She stared up at him, lips parted. What was new? Her mind was blank. Nothing was new. She had done absolutely nothing and was officially the most boring person on earth.
“I...” She cleared her throat. “I made a revenge cake?”
It blurted out of her, even though the order was supposed to remain confidential. She cringed as Noah laughed in surprise.
“A revenge cake?” he repeated. “How does that work, exactly?”
Anna rubbed the back of her neck, feeling some stray locks of hair that had fallen out of her bun. She probably looked like one of those witches who got a little too into their craft and became raving hermits in the woods.
“Just, you know, a spell,” she said, her voice unnaturally high. “It sorta bri
ngs bad luck to whoever eats it.”
“Oh. Dang.” Noah eyed the display case beside them. “None of these are bad luck, are they?”
Anna breathed out a faint laugh. “No, none of the display goods are spelled.”
“Cool. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He flashed her another smile, and she had to lean against the counter as her knees weakened.
“Are you... You’re a witch, right?” she asked. She already knew, of course, that he was a tailor witch—the benefits of social media—but it seemed a good place to start. Even witches aren’t immune to a social media deep-dive.
He shrugged. “Yeah. My whole family has an affinity for fabrics and whatnot.”
“You sound like you’re not a fan.”
Noah raked a hand through his blond hair. It was thick and luxurious, and fell in a wheat-yellow wave as his fingers passed through. “It’s cool, but it’s not really what I want to do. I think witches like you are really lucky—you love what you’re attuned to.” He gestured at the shop around them.
“So...what do you want to do?”
He bit his lower lip, studying a nearby cinnamon bun. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he murmured, “I wanna go to school for music. To be a professional piano player.”
Anna didn’t realize there was a way to be more attracted to Noah, and yet here she was, weak at the thought of Noah’s perfect hands gliding over piano keys.
“That’s amazing,” she said. “You should absolutely do it, if it’s what you want.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see what my parents say when they see which schools I’m applying to.” He winked at her, and she blushed. “Anyway, I’m stopping by because I wanted to place an order. A...special order.”
She perked up. Noah wanted a spell? “Oh, okay! Um...” She hunted for paper and a pen. “What’s the... I mean, what do you...what is it?”
Another patron walked in. While they browsed the breads along the back wall, Noah leaned in and lowered his voice.
“A confidence spell,” he whispered.
Anna ducked her head to hide the widening of her eyes as she wrote the order down. What does Noah want with a confidence spell...?
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