Mother of Wolves

by M H Soars

  “What was he?” I ask, guessing by the way he simply vanished that he’s not human either.

  “A ghost, right?” Kenya turns to Zeke.

  He shakes his head. “No, not a ghost. Something more powerful than that. A deity from Olympus.”

  “Shit. Do you think Artemis is behind this?”

  I raise my arm. “Wait a second and back up. Artemis as in the goddess?”

  “Oh, honey. You really don’t remember a thing,” Kenya says, her eyes full of pity.

  “Don’t look at me like that. If I’m not dreaming and I’ve truly lost my memories, how do I get them back? I was with Grandma not too long ago. She took me to meet some of her friends, and I’m guessing they were all witches.”

  “And what happened?” Zeke probes.

  “Nothing. As soon as I got there, I was sent to the square.”

  “Were they planning on breaking the spell?” He continues to scrutinize me. It’s unnerving.

  “I think so.”

  “It’s possible that whoever is responsible for this mess doesn’t want you recovering your memories any time soon.” He walks behind the counter and begins to collect random items, placing them on top.

  “What are you going to do?” Kenya moves closer, eyeing the stuff Zeke placed there.

  “I don’t have all the answers, but I still have connections in Hell.”

  He sets a silver bowl on the counter and a dagger next to it.

  “Are you going to perform some kind of satanic ritual?” My voice rises to a pitch while my heart drums away inside of my chest.

  “Just a basic call to Downstairs. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

  Kenya retraces her steps to me and throws her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Red. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Zeke grabs the dagger and looks at us. “I’ll need a small contribution from one of you.”

  “You want our blood?” I ask.

  “Just a few drops.”

  “Why don’t you use your own?” Kenya raises an eyebrow.

  He gives us a droll look. “Because I’m an imp. My blood is tainted.”

  “Ugh. All right. You can have mine.” She steps forward.

  “Kenya, no. You could be inadvertently selling your soul.”

  “Okay, let’s get this show running, because clueless Red is getting on my nerves.” Zeke narrows his eyes.

  “I’m sorry my memory loss is such a burden to you, asshole,” I spit back.

  “Red, don’t antagonize the help,” Kenya grits out.

  “It’s okay. I know she’s not herself right now. All right, cookie. Give me your hand.”

  Kenya offers her palm to Zeke. He slides the dagger across, making her hiss. He then closes her hand, thus forcing the droplets of blood to fall into the silver bowl. She steps away while he tosses other ingredients in the bowl and begins to recite words in a strange language. He closes his eyes in concentration and his skin changes hue, turning grayish green. Freaky. How am I supposed to believe he’s on our side when he looks like that?

  He stops abruptly and stares at the bowl with a frown. “I don’t understand. The spell isn’t working.”

  “Don’t tell us you need more blood.” Kenya clutches her hand against her chest.

  “No, what I got from you should have been enough.” He lifts his chin to stare at my friend. “I know this isn’t right the time to ask, but what are you?”

  Kenya’s spine turns rigid and her lips become nothing but a thin flat line. “What am I? You’re joking, right? I’m fucking human, jackass.”

  Zeke opens his mouth to no doubt offer a retort but ends up clamping it shut.

  I amble forward. “Maybe my blood will work.”

  He turns his blue eyes to me. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. If this is a nightmare, then there’s no harm. And if it isn’t, well, I have to do everything in my power to discover the culprit behind this chaos.”

  I offer him my hand, and without further ado, Zeke makes a cut. It hurts a little, though not as much as I thought it would. Once my blood is in the bowl, I walk backward until I’m standing next to Kenya.

  “Now we can be called the slashed sisters,” she jokes, but I don’t sense any humor in her words. I don’t know what’s freaking her out the most, this situation or the fact that Zeke thinks she’s not human.

  The imp restarts the ritual. The moment the strange words leave his mouth, the inside of the bowl begins to glow, bathing his face in crimson light. He peers inside, and once again his pupils change color to that freakish red.

  “Damian, are you there?” he asks.

  At least twenty seconds go by before I catch a disturbance in the glow from the bowl.

  “Zeke, is that you?” a distorted voice replies.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “It’s been a while. You haven’t called in decades.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I heard you made a trip to the Wastelands. That was reckless of you.”

  “It couldn’t be avoided. Also, this call puts me in danger, so I’ll cut straight to the point. Have you heard any whispers that the Olympian gods are back at their wicked games again?”

  There’s a pause in the communication, and I don’t know if the connection is bad or Zeke’s informant is thinking.

  “Nothing concrete,” the voice finally replies. “Just whispers of turmoil in Hades’s domain. But you have to take that with a grain of salt. The Underworld isn’t known for its stable and drama-free atmosphere.”

  “Is that all you know?”

  “Yeah, sorry, man. I’d better go. I don’t think I’m alone anymore.”

  The glow in the bowl vanishes. Zeke leans away and rubs his face.

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  “Damn. It seems we donated blood for a whole lot of nothing.” Kenya opens her hand to inspect the gash on her palm.

  “I have one more person to call.” Zeke pulls his cell phone out.

  “Wait a minute. If you could call someone using modern technology, why didn’t we try that first?” I ask.

  “Because Trinity has been off the radar for months.” I hear the robotic voice of the voice mail lady, which brings forth a string of curses from Zeke. “See? I can’t get a hold of her, which means we—”

  Suddenly, the entire store begins to shake. I reach for the table nearby to avoid falling again. Kenya joins me there.

  “What the hell is going on now?” she asks.

  The front door bursts open, and the blond guy from before fills its frame. There’s a big gash on his forehead now, and he looks pissed.

  Son of a bitch.

  Chapter 6

  Red

  Kenya positions herself in front of me, getting into a defensive mode with her fists up. “If you want Red, you’ll have to go through me, asshole.”

  The guy enters the bakery, shutting the door without touching it. Great. He has the ability to move shit with his mind.

  Zeke walks around the counter with dagger in hand. “Stay back!” he warns.

  The stranger looks at him and arches his eyebrows. “Put that weapon down, you fool. I’m not the enemy here.”

  “If you’re not the enemy, who are you?” I ask.

  “Wait a second. I remember you. You came into the diner yesterday,” Kenya chimes in. “Only you didn’t look like you just came from Comic Con.”

  I scramble for any memories of that meeting, but I come up empty.

  The stranger glances at his ensemble and then at us again with a quizzical glint in his eyes. “I didn’t come from Comic Con, wherever that place is. And yes, you saw me at the diner yesterday. I tried to stop them, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Stop who?” I press my hands on my belly, as if by doing so I’m shielding my baby from whatever harm is coming our way.

  “The Furies,” he answers.

  “Aren’t they some kind of mythological creatures?” Kenya glances at Zeke.

 
“Not creatures. They’re the three goddesses of vengeance,” the stranger answers. “Very dangerous and capricious. Artemis had them imprisoned in the Underworld many millennia ago, but they’ve escaped and are now thirsty for retribution.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Zeke mutters. “Why would Artemis antagonize those three infernal goddesses?”

  “They destroyed one of Artemis’s sanctuaries on Earth, killing thousands of animals. To avoid a showdown between her and the mercurial trio, Hades agreed to imprison them.”

  “What does that have to do with me and Crimson Hollow?” I ask.

  “They’re after your mates.” The stranger levels me with a hard stare.

  That word again. Mates. My brain can’t grasp the fact that I might be involved with three men at the same time. Out of everything I’ve seen and learned today, that’s the most bizarre detail of all.

  “Why would the Furies be after her mates?” Kenya asks.

  “Because they were Artemis’s wolves.”

  There’s a pinch in my heart, a worry stemming from an unknown reason. I don’t remember anything about my presumed mates, but the notion that they’re in danger is giving me chest pain.

  “Why can’t the Furies take up their issues with Artemis? Why come here?” I ask in turn.

  “As long as Artemis is in her Olympus sanctuary, they can’t touch her. The Furies came for Samuel and Dante, who are easy prey now that they’re living in the human realm,” the man replies.

  “Does she know?” I ask in a high-pitched voice, getting more nervous by the second.

  He crosses his arms and stares at the floor. “I went to her first. She’s not coming to aid.”

  I feel a kick and then pressure in my bladder. I have to pee again, but I can’t go now. I need answers. “Why wouldn’t she help them?”

  Blondie lifts his chin to meet my gaze. “In Artemis’s warped view, the moment they picked you over her, they died.”

  “That’s just great.” I throw my hands up in the air. “How do we fight three mean goddesses?”

  “Oh, cookie. You don’t fight the Furies. You stay the hell away from their path of destruction,” Zeke interjects.

  “The imp is right,” the man says. “You can’t fight the Furies.”

  “And you can?” Kenya raises an eyebrow.

  He touches the gash on his forehead. “As you can see, no.”

  “They did that to you?” I cross my arms and my legs, because despite the horrible situation we’re in, I still need to pee.

  Zeke takes a step forward, narrowing his eyes. “You can’t fight the Furies alone, so you’re not a god. But you have access to Artemis, so that begs the question: Who are you?”

  With a proud lift of his chin, he replies, “I’m Pegasus.”

  “Wait, like the winged horse from the legends?” Kenya looks the man up and down.

  He turns to her, his expression solemn. “That’s one of my forms.”

  I pull one of the chairs out and take a seat. I’m married to three guys, pregnant, Artemis hates my guts, and now her archenemies are set on destroying my world. That’s just too much to handle.

  “Red, are you okay?” Kenya touches my shoulder.

  “No. I’m not okay.” I turn to her. “We’re standing in front of a mythical creature who just told us we have three vengeful goddesses gunning for us. And worst of all, I can’t remember a thing.”

  “I can maybe help with that.” Pegasus approaches me.

  “How?” Kenya and I ask at the same time.

  “I’m not a god, but I do have a bag of tricks at my disposal.” He lifts his hand, stopping short of touching my forehead. “May I?”

  I pull back, a knee-jerk reaction. “It depends. What are you going to do?”

  “Try to undo what the Furies did.”

  “You have that power?” Kenya butts in.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whoa. Hold on.” I lift my hands. “I’m not sure if I want you messing with my head.”

  “I won’t make it worse,” he replies. “I promise.”

  Sucking my lower lip in, I glance at Kenya. She shrugs and says, “You have nothing to lose.”

  Taking a deep breath, I face Pegasus again. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  His touch is featherlight and warm. I sense a small vibration coming from his fingertips. It spreads across my forehead, leaving me light-headed for a moment. He pulls away, and three pair of expectant eyes are now trained on me.

  “And? Did it work?” Kenya asks.

  It takes me a moment to give her the answer. My heart sinks. “No. I still don’t remember a thing.”

  Pegasus twists his face into a grimace while his eyes flash with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

  “You tried.” I stand up. “But now I have to use the restroom.”

  I head for the back of the bakery. I do have to pee, but there’s also another reason I want to be alone.

  I’m already crying before I even lock the door. This is so frustrating. Feeling impotent and unhinged is so not me. I don’t cry my eyes out in the face of problems; I face them head-on. God, being pregnant sucks.

  When I return to the store, I walk into the middle of a heated discussion. Everyone shuts up when they see I’ve returned though.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We’re debating what to do,” Kenya replies

  “And?”

  “I want to take you to a safe place where the Furies can’t harm you, but your friends are against the idea.” Pegasus glares in Kenya and Zeke’s direction.

  “I’m not going anywhere. The Furies are after my mates, so there’s only one course of action. I have to protect them.”

  “Have you not been listening to anything I said? You can’t fight the Furies. You’re only human.”

  I lift my chin. “I’m going to find my mates, and together we’ll find a way to get rid of those bitches.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Kenya moves to my side. “Besides, Red is more than just a human chick. She’s the Mother of Wolves, sucker.”

  “I’m the what?”

  Kenya waves her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Now, let’s go rescue your men.”

  “It’s not safe out,” Pegasus protests.

  Zeke walks to the front window and peers through the blinds. “I don’t see anyone outside, nor do I sense the presence of any god. If we’re going after your mates, now’s our chance.”

  Pegasus pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “This is a terrible idea. I’m telling you—”

  “Enough stalling,” I spit. “You don’t know me, but I’m not one to just sit tight and wait for my problems to disappear.”

  “Sam is at Five-Headed Dragon. Let’s get him and drive to the compound,” Kenya says.

  I square my shoulders, psyching myself up to officially meet one of my mates. I might be carrying his child, but in this fucked-up reality, he’s a stranger. My stomach clenches in anticipation.

  As if sensing where my head is, Kenya stops in front of me and begins to apply makeup to my face.

  “Are you serious?” Zeke asks.

  “Hey, they don’t know each other, remember? I can’t let my friend meet her mate with this just-out-of-bed style.”

  “Do I look that bad?” I ask.

  “Oh no, honey. You can never look bad. But a little lipstick won’t hurt.”

  A minute later she’s done.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” I say.

  “Hold on, let me go out first.” Pegasus veers for the door and sticks his head out. “The coast is clear for now.”

  He steps out first, looking like a veritable knight in shining armor. His uniform even has a crimson cape, for crying out loud.

  Kenya and I follow him with our arms hooked together, and Zeke brings up the rear. We stride across the square as fast as we can, but I know I’m slowing the pace of the group with my humungous belly.

  As we’re about to cross the street in front of the music v
enue, the double doors open and a group of people walks out. Among them is Samuel Wolfe in the arms of a woman with long white-blonde hair. I don’t remember being mated to him, but the pain that pierces my chest is real. And so is the red rage that clouds my vision.

  I peel my lips back and snarl.

  That bitch is dead.

  Chapter 7

  Dante

  My head is pounding, and my hold on the paintbrush is as unsteady as a giraffe on skates, but I can’t quit now. The compulsion to paint is not unknown to me, but the inability to capture the image in my brain is. I dip the tip of the brush in the red paint and glide it on the canvas. It only takes a few strokes for me to know I’m going in the wrong direction. Again.

  “Damn this to hell!” I hurl the brush into the distance, not caring where it lands. Pushing my long bangs back with one hand, I reach for the bottle of whiskey with the other.

  The fiery amber liquid burns my throat as it goes down, and after a few gulps, I sway on the spot. With blurry vision, I look at my work in progress. More like a disgrace in progress. I got the general shape of a woman down, but it’s the details of her face that are eluding me. Try as I might, I can’t capture it on canvas. It’s almost as if there’s something blocking me.

  I step away from the easel and amble toward my leather couch, plopping onto it and sloshing whiskey all over the front of my shirt. Whatever. It’s already stained with oil paint, and when it’s off my body, it’s going straight to the trash bin.

  Sinking against the back of the couch, I stare at the ceiling. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. For the past three weeks, I’ve been trying to paint a woman with blonde hair and a red gown, but for the life of me, I can’t finish it. Whenever I have visions, I can complete the art in a few hours. Only the compulsion to paint the mysterious woman isn’t a vision, it’s a raw need.

  A couple of consecutive knocks on my front door echo in the room to disturb my peace, followed by Tristan’s booming voice. “Dante! Open up.”

  “Fuck off!”

  “You’ve been holed up in your studio for three weeks. Either you open the door or I’ll tear it down.”

  “Fine. Tear it down,” I dare, perversely wanting to see if Tristan will follow through with his threat this time.