by Raye Wagner
“Don’t be sorry for me. I hope you find a way to twist your monster out of its bindings. But you best be careful.” His heads swiveled around, searching, and then tilted to listen. Satisfied with the silence in the library, he continued, “That young demigod that brought you here, the son of Ares?”
Hope flinched at the mention of Xan, and chills crawled over her skin. “What about him?”
“He’s the one that led the slaughter. He’s the one that killed the monsters. Practically bathed in their blood. You best be careful of that one. If he finds out what you’re doing . . .” His heads shook, and his four arms wiped at several different noses. “If he finds out, he’ll kill you.”
A burst of fear exploded in her chest. The walls of the immortal library seemed to contract with the revelation. The son of Ares. Oh, gods! She’d heard of him. Learned about him in school. Was that what he was trying to allude to? A time in his life he wasn’t proud of?
She rubbed her eyes, and a burst of memory solidified. She’d seen him. The dream. Oh, gods the dream she’d had. It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. Xan. He’d chased her when she was a child. Her and her mom. That was . . . No, no, no. How could that be Xan? The two realities refused to mesh. It couldn’t be.
She scrambled up. “I’ve got to go. Right now.” She needed to get out of there. Gods, how could she have not put it together? Was this the shame he spoke of? She shoved the book on the shelf and inched her way toward Briareus. “Please let me go?”
He scooted to the side and let her pass.
“I hope you free your friend,” he said as she passed. Several of his heads echoed the words, “Free your friend.” It was a sad, heart-wrenching sound.
With tears in her eyes, she accepted his benediction. Would that be her future? “Thanks.”
She ran to her room and slammed the door.
Hope grabbed her duffle bags from the closet and threw them on the bed. She pulled the leather-bound book of her history, another Book of the Fates from under the mattress. This would be the only volume of the Moirai not in the Underworld. Why were they bound there? She flipped it over and traced the outline of the gold Greek lettering, κατάρα, curse.
She opened the cover. The words blurred and then came into focus. On the first page in the same gold ink was the curse. The words Apollo had spoken at her great-grandmother’s deathbed.
On this night and in this land
Hear the curse, how it will stand.
Your body and your beauty be
Touched and marked eternally of me
And when your family is complete
Then Death will visit on swift feet
And rob you of the joy divine
The joy that should be yours and mine
Until we wed, and love and more
This shall stand forevermore
APOLLO
Hope choked down her anger with the god and her frustration with her impotence. Somehow there had to be a way to make her free.
A scratching sound was the only warning. Hope set the book down just as her door slammed open.
Endy, Prax, Ty, Tre, and Obelia swaggered in, all wearing matching grins. The older boys led the charge and came straight at Hope.
She scurried to the other side of the bed.
“What do you want?” But she already knew.
Ty laughed and then leaned toward her. “You.”
She dove over the bed in an attempt to get to the door, but Tre grabbed her as she crossed the floor.
“Whoa, little monster. Don’t run away. We want to talk to you.”
Right. Sure. That was exactly what they wanted. “Let me go, and we can talk.”
Pain exploded across her face, and the room swam.
“You’re never going anywhere again, beast.” Ty grabbed her hair and pulled it back, forcing her to look up at him.
“Did you really think I would let it go? That nothing would happen to you?” Endy sneered.
Hope jerked, trying to pull away from the other boys, but her strength was no match for them. She scanned the room and noticed Obelia in the corner by the door.
“It was an accident. The Skia attack was an accident. You heard Athan. I fought the Skia.” Her focus went from Obelia to Endy. As if he would corroborate anything she said.
His blue eyes glared hatred.
Another sharp crack and more pain. Starbursts danced across her vision, and the room swayed before her again.
“Don’t even go there. You are nothing. A monstrosity unleashed upon the world for too long. But we’re here to fix all that.”
Warmth trickled down her chin, and Hope tasted blood. She took a blow to her stomach like a car crashing into her. Her internal organs scrambled, and she wheezed for air. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
His boot connected with her spine, right through her belly button. Her breath whooshed out, and she dropped to the floor, doubled over.
They kicked her again and again.
Hope tried to protect her face from the blows. This could not be happening. But it was. It was exactly what Priska had said would happen if they found out what she was.
“You dare to defy the edict?” One of the sons of Apollo yelled and punctuated the question with a kick to Hope’s face.
Something cracked, either hands or a nose. Everything throbbed with pain. Hope’s teeth tangled with her lips, and blood ran down her throat, causing her to cough. She spat a red mess onto the floor.
“We’ll show you what happens to monsters.” Ty yanked Hope upright, and with a fistful of her hair he pulled her head back, exposing her neck.
Endy pulled out a golden dagger. “Do you recognize this?” He fingered the blade. “Your grandmother killed an heir to Apollo with it.” He nodded as if answering her unasked question. “I took it back.” He crouched down next to her. “I think it only fitting that the same blade is used to end your pathetic life.”
Hope closed her eyes. Death couldn’t be any more painful. White-hot agony seared her neck. Her stomach roiled with protest, emptying its contents. A bright light begged her to open her eyes, and the scent of honeysuckle filled the room. But the pain persisted, and someone screamed. A foul stench singed her nostrils. Of course, death smelled like flowers and burned flesh. She choked and vomited again. Shouldn’t the pain at least lessen if you’re dead? Her entire body throbbed. She clenched her teeth and tried to open her eyes, but they were swollen shut.
“How dare you!” The voice was strange, melodic, and threatening all at once.
She tried again, and this time, her eyelids lifted. Not much, but it was enough.
A golden-skinned man stood in her room. He wore a skirt trimmed in gold and a bronze sash across his bare chest. He almost seemed to . . . glow?
Hope thought to shake her head, but the room started spinning, so she rested it back on the ground and watched. She should know him. Something about the golden coloring was familiar, and the scent of honeysuckle . . .
Apollo. Apollo was there. In her bedroom.
The sun god stood almost a full six inches taller than his son.
“She is not your plaything, bastard.” Apollo lifted Endy up by the throat. The golden dagger clattered to the floor, and Endy’s hands grasped at Apollo’s.
Obelia lay in a heap on the floor by the door, the wall singed black behind her. Something foul filled the air, something dusty and chalky and burnt. The smell of roasted meat made Hope’s stomach roil again.
“Did you think you could have her?” Apollo punctuated the rhetorical question with a violent shake of his son’s neck. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care?”
Endymion’s thrashing waned, and his skin tinged blue.
“You will never touch her again.” The god’s hands became luminous, growing brighter and brighter.
Endy’s eyes grew wide, and his lips moved in a silent plea.
The vivid brilliance grew harsh, and Hope closed her eyes. Darkness fell, and Hope blinked
several times. The smell of charred meat grew stronger, hanging heavily in the ashy air. Hope rolled to her side and retched again, then clenched at her beaten stomach. Tears leaked from her eyes. She wanted to cough, but the pain made her whimper.
Silence filled the room, and she glanced up.
“Dear, Sphinx.” Apollo stepped toward her.
She tried to scoot away, but her arm screamed when she put weight on it. She couldn’t even get away an inch.
“You have no reason to fear me, Hope.” He crouched down, his gaze caressing her. “One day, you will know how much I care for you.” His lips parted, and his expression softened. “And you will come to care for me too.” He reached out as if to touch her.
Hope flinched, her eyes closing, her only form of protest. Apollo chuckled and closed the distance. His hand stroked her face and hair. She could smell the ash that clung to his hands and clothes. The ash that had only moments before been his sons.
He ran his hand over her head and lifted a lock of hair. “You are marked to be mine. No one else will have you.”
Words choked her. Hatred burned her throat. She wanted to spit on him. To curse him. To hit him. But shock paralyzed her. Warmth tingled across her scalp, and then trailed its way from her head to her toes. What was he doing? Was he healing her?
Another cough, and Hope scanned the room. Her eyes were no longer swollen, not even tender, and they landed on the demigod daughter of Hestia. Obelia stirred, pulling up onto her hands and knees.
“Our time is up, but I shall see you again soon.” He stepped away and clasped his hands in front of his body. A beat of silence as he measured her. “Beware of death. Despite what you think, Hades will not help you.”
Hades? What was he talking about? Why did he heal her? And he’d killed his own sons. His own sons! Oh gods, was he going to kill Obelia?
Apollo crossed over to the female demigod.
“Daughter of Hestia.” He pulled her up by her arm, and her feet dangled above the thick carpet. “You are my witness.” He pointed at the room; the black marks on the walls, the ash on the floor.
Obelia’s eyes dilated. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again, but no sound came out.
“No one shall touch her, or they will have to deal with me. Do you understand?” He shook her, and her head bobbed. “Then tell the other demigods.” He dropped her, and her small body crumpled in a heap. “Farewell, Sphinx.” The god of light winked at Hope, then, in a flash, he disappeared.
Obelia’s face was streaked with tears, and her hands shook as she brought them to her neck and then her lap. “Where’s Endy?” Her voice trembled with shock.
Hope lifted her hand and pointed to the closest pile of ash scattered in the carpet fibers.
THERE WAS A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
Hope pulled her stiff body from the bed with a groan and shuffled across the room. She yanked the door open, and Xan stood in front of her, a plateful of food in one hand and a large brown bag in the other.
“May I come in?”
She shuddered as memories of him picking her up surfaced. Her fear because of his past, and what had happened with Apollo, had her screaming and thrashing in his arms. Xan had been gentle and patient, but she couldn’t help the anxiety that even now caused butterflies and caterpillars to battle in her stomach. So much for eating.
“How are you holding up?” he asked as he set the food on the desk and pulled the chair closer to the bed.
Hope shuffled back and wrapped herself in a blue blanket she’d borrowed from Dahlia. “I still hurt.”
Apollo had healed her external wounds before Obelia started screaming for help. Before Xan had come in. Before Hope had collapsed into the sucking darkness. But even after waking two days later, something deep within her ached.
“Aye. I’m sure you do.”
He collapsed into the lone black chair as she climbed back into bed.
“What’s the news?” The quorum had been postponed following Endy’s, Prax’s, Tre’s, and Ty’s deaths. Thenia had thought they needed to report the incident, but no one could decide who should be told since it was the boys’ father who had killed them.
“Athena is coming. Tomorrow.”
Hope cringed.
“I’ve tried to talk Thenia out of it, but four dead demigods and a monster in the conservatory doesn’t sound good. In theory, Athena would be the most impartial. The least biased.” Xan shook his head. “It was the best I could negotiate.”
He and Dahlia had been against reporting anything, but Obelia, Thenia, and Kaia were adamant that the gods should be informed of the breach of the conservatory and the subsequent deaths.
She couldn’t stay. Not that she’d been planning on being there much longer, but she’d have to leave tonight.
“Can I ask you a question?” Ever since Braireus had told her it was Xan who’d led the charge, she’d wanted to know.
Xan stiffened, and his voice was thick when he answered, “Sure.”
“What happened? With the monsters?”
He leaned forward, put his hands on the soft blanket, and smoothed it again and again. “I was still a lad when me mom died,” he whispered. “But I thought I was all grown up. I wanted to impress my father. A boy always wants his father’s approval. Even when it’s wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Everything I ever read about monsters was how terrible they were. How selfish and cruel. I took my pain out on them.” He met Hope’s gaze, but his face was devoid of emotion. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
She frowned, trying to reconcile the stories with the boy before her. “You came after us when I was a kid. I remember your face.”
He blushed. “Well, that’s awkward.”
They both laughed, but the tightness in her chest didn’t go away. “Would you have killed us?”
Xan leaned toward her again. “I’d like to think not, but I don’t know.” He sat back in the chair and studied her. “Now it’s my turn. Did you find anything about your curse?”
Nothing concrete and nothing she would admit to. She shrugged. “There’s no history of anyone breaking a curse.”
“But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to try.”
His shrewd gaze pierced her, and she nodded.
“Right. Well, can I get you anything else?” He stood.
It had been like this ever since Apollo killed Endy. Xan and the other demigods tiptoed around her, but worse, her heart ached because she’d lost her friends.
“No, thanks. Good night, Xan.”
“Good night.”
Hope sat in bed, the uneaten sandwiches still on the plate next to her. She went over and over what she’d read, what Braireus had said, Endy’s brutal execution. And Apollo . . . Why had he said Hades wouldn’t help her?
And then she knew. The rest of the books of the Moirai sealed in the Underworld. The Skia telling her she would need their help. They’d always been watching. Oh gods. Even the attack in Goldendale . . . The Skia had dragged her back until she crashed into a portal.
She needed to get to the Underworld. With that clarity, she crossed her room and grabbed her backpack. Despite the soreness, she moved with purpose and threw her stuff into her bag. Clothes, toiletries, her Book of the Fates. In a few minutes, she was packed. Only the essentials. She could buy anything else she needed, but she suspected she wouldn’t need much where she was going.
She surveyed the room one last time, and her eyes fell on the bag Xan had brought her. She opened it and saw enough food for several days, her cell phone, and a stack of hundred dollar bills. Had he known she would run, or was he trying to tell her to? She shoved the brown paper bag into the duffle.
The house was quiet, but as she walked down the hall toward the stairs, she heard voices. If she told anyone, they might want to come with her, or worse, stop her. She couldn’t risk discovery.
She backtracked to her room and locked the door behind her. Her gaze flitted to the only other way out, and she crossed to the window
and opened it. The night air washed over her in a chilly wave that smelled of fresh rain. Glancing out, she surveyed the surroundings. Not too bad. She dropped the bag, watching it land on the wet grass. Grateful she was only two stories up, she took a deep breath and braced herself. Trusting in her cat-like reflexes, she jumped, then landed with a quiet thud. She stood, brushed off the bag, and swung it over her shoulder. Maybe she could sneak through the front door and snag her keys.
She rounded the corner and stopped.
“I just want to talk to her,” Priska said, her voice carrying across the drive. “I’ve shown you my Mark—”
“I’ve never seen a Mark like that one. How do I know it’s even real?” Obelia snapped. “If you want access to the conservatory, you’ll need to disclose your mother. Like I said, we’re on lockdown.”
Lockdown? Because of Hope? And why was Priska here?
“You can’t keep me out!” Priska cried.
Hope heard scuffling, and she inched forward in the shadows. There was a scream, and then the door slammed.
“Let me in!” Priska yelled.
Hope watched her aunt, again in her mid-thirties, hit the door over and over. A sense of loss punched her in the gut, and she couldn’t control the urge to comfort the mourning woman in front of her.
“Priska.” Hope called, her voice a whisper yell.
Priska froze. She turned and stared into the shadows. “Hope?” The second their eyes met, Priska ran to her and pulled her into a tight hug. “Oh, gods. I can’t believe . . .”
Hope’s mouth gaped wide. Priska’s face was ravaged with emotion, her eyes haunted with pain. This woman was an empty shell of her aunt. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh gods. I’m sorry, Hope. So, so sorry.” The plea in her eyes could have melted ice. “I should’ve come sooner, I know. I just . . . I didn’t know.” She shivered. “I’m sorry.”
Hope hurt for Priska’s pain. But the nagging coincidence of her showing up now was too much.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She could ask her questions later. There would be time.
Priska’s head swiveled as she gazed into the darkness. “We need to get you out of here. Oh gods. If they see you missing.” She guided Hope to her car parked in the shadows of the circular drive. “You were right. I should’ve helped. But I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
