Coils

by Barbara Ann Wright

  “But this quest you spoke of?”

  “I’d better get back to it.” The fight was still raging, but she didn’t know how long it would last. She headed for the bridge again.

  He frowned but stayed with her. “I know what lies through that gate, or I did know and have forgotten.” He had an open, honest face, with curly brown hair that fell into his dark eyes. He wore a simple chiton, light blue, with an unadorned brooch at one shoulder, and she couldn’t help wondering who he was, if it was polite to ask. But just like that, she knew he had to be Perseus. That would be par for the course. And if he followed her, he’d wind up right where Medusa wanted him.

  Well, he had murdered her, and he got to go to paradise because of it. Even though Medusa was a cheat and a liar, that didn’t excuse what Perseus had done. Should she let him follow her, then? If Adonis was right, there was nothing Medusa could do to him without help, except capture him, maybe.

  Cressida took a deep breath. “What’s your name?”

  “Pylades.”

  Her breath left her in a rush, a happy sigh. He had nothing to do with the Perseus myth. “Well, I can’t promise you won’t find someone over there who wants to kill you, but you’re welcome to come along.”

  He gave her another bright smile, and she licked her lips as a question loomed large in her mind. “You don’t know Perseus, do you?”

  “Met him a few times.”

  Part of her wanted to say, “Don’t let him out of here again,” but another part of her, a far nastier part, wanted to find him and bring him over so she could say to Medusa, “Here he is! You can’t kill him, and I’m not going to, and you’re just going to have to stand there and like it.”

  She wondered what Perseus would think of that. Whether he’d apologize to Medusa or laugh in her face. He might not remember her. That would be far worse, and it made Cressida’s heart lurch. She might actually kill him if he couldn’t recall the people he’d slain.

  “He’s not here,” Pylades said.

  Cressida nearly stumbled. Maybe he was in Asphodel if he hadn’t done so well during his resurrections. Medusa would be pissed that she’d missed him for so long. “Where is he?”

  “On his third life.” He smiled happily. “If he makes it to the Elysian Fields this time, he’ll move on to the Isles of the Blessed. Lucky bastard. I’m still trying to pluck up the courage to go back for my second life.”

  “Oh.” Emotions warred within Cressida, smug satisfaction and sadness and relief. Now her only question was, should she tell Medusa or not? If she left without saying anything, Medusa might go on hoping. Maybe that would be worst of all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Instead of stopping when they drew closer to the Elysian Fields, Medusa prompted Aix to take them into the open, sacrificing secrecy for speed. Aix seemed happy to be let loose on the population. She opened her mouth wide and roared whenever anyone appeared in the distance. When people jumped for cover or took off as if fired from a cannon, Aix shivered, and Medusa knew she was laughing.

  “Can we slow down?” June cried. “I’m going to be sick!”

  “We’re nearly there.”

  She heard mumbles thanking various deities. In the distance stood the fence and its ghosts, but standing well back from it was another group, some leading the hungry ghosts away, but more were watching the fence as if expecting someone to come through. Cressida had to have crossed over already. Medusa wondered if she’d thought about Perseus, if she’d run into him or asked after him.

  She told herself it didn’t matter. Well, she tried to, but the part of her that had been searching for a cure for her sisters for so long was screaming that there must be a way to get what she wanted. But then her thoughts drifted to that damned kiss, how she’d drank Cressida in like water. And it was more than lust. Cressida had come back for her. With everything to lose, she’d stayed. Now Medusa wanted to keep her for reasons that had nothing to do with her sisters.

  “Fuck.”

  June leaned around her. “Everything all right?”

  “No!” She thought of her earlier idea to ask June if Cressida couldn’t be persuaded, but even that was too dangerous. Still, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but when she opened her mouth again, what came out was, “When we find Cressida…grab her and run for the exit. She’s too good for this place.”

  June nodded and sat back, offering no comment.

  They were close enough now that Medusa could tell Adonis from the others. “Plow right into them, Mom.”

  Some malicious edge to her voice must have conveyed what she wanted far better than her words could. Aix picked up speed, and as the henchman turned and cried out, Aix barreled into their midst. As Medusa leapt from her mother’s back, she had one final thought: She and her sisters were dead, and Cressida was alive. It had been the truth since they’d met, but something in Medusa had refused to acknowledge it. Now, suddenly, it meant everything in the entire world.

  She tackled Adonis to the ground. “What did you do with her?”

  He rolled and tried to grab her, but she shifted into her snake form, and his hands slid over her scales as his eyes squeezed shut. “Get off me!”

  As fighters, Medusa felt as if they were the worst in history. She’d never been good at hand-to-hand, but luckily, Adonis was just as shitty as she was. She’d been propelled by rage, mostly at herself, but that was calming. She and Adonis sort of slid over each other, neither having the upper hand. They grabbed at each other’s wrists when they could and kicked when they couldn’t.

  Someone grabbed Medusa’s shoulder and hauled her up. When she saw Narcissus’s hand, she sank her teeth into it. He shrieked and fell backward.

  Adonis heaved her upward. “Asshole!” he cried. Anger gave him enough strength to push her away.

  She was tired of wrestling anyway, and at least she’d gotten to bite someone. Adonis rushed to Narcissus, but even with the poison, he’d be fine. “Where is Cressida?” Medusa asked.

  “Where do you think?” Adonis said. “We need that ambrosia.”

  “She’s leaving as soon as she gets back. I don’t care whether you get your ambrosia or not.”

  “We swore by the Styx,” Narcissus said. “She gives us the ambrosia, she walks away.”

  Swearing by the river. Cressida never admitted she knew about that. If she hadn’t, no one was going to mention it to her. Medusa wondered why she hadn’t insisted on it before, but she seemed to trust everyone. Why shouldn’t she? She’d never lived anywhere like the Underworld. She probably thought everyone was good at heart.

  “She really needs to get out of here,” Medusa mumbled.

  Adonis frowned but then sighed. “I agree with you. It sort of breaks your heart.”

  “If you’ve hurt her,” Medusa said, “I’ll break more than your heart.”

  “Lighten up,” Adonis said as he pulled Narcissus away. “She’s fine. Like I said, we swore by the river.” He stared pointedly at Medusa. “She can leave as long as no one stops her.”

  Medusa wanted to say she wouldn’t. It was her idea that Cressida should leave as quickly as possible, but she choked on the words. The specters of her sisters loomed in her mind. How could she face them if she let Cressida walk away? How could she face herself if she didn’t?

  “Cressida!” June ran for the fence where Cressida was emerging next to a man in a chiton. Medusa’s heart sped, both at the sight of her and the young man. His features seemed to blur for a moment, and she thought, Oh, she’s done it. Even after everything Medusa had put her through, Cressida had lured Perseus within reach.

  She took a step closer, fists clenching and unclenching. Maybe it didn’t have to be the harpe that killed him. Maybe the oracles were wrong, and she could squeeze the life out of him with her bare hands. As she stalked closer, though, she knew his features weren’t blurring. She was trying to make them into someone else’s. He looked a bit like Perseus, but it wasn’t him.

  Cressida hugged her au
nt fiercely, and Medusa heard her asking over and over if June was real. Over June’s shoulder, Cressida looked to Medusa, and her face transformed with rage. She knew she’d been lied to. Coldness spread through Medusa’s guts even though she’d known this was coming. Maybe Cressida had asked a young hero to come with her so she could taunt Medusa with him somehow, a well-deserved revenge.

  Medusa took a step, trying to think of a way to explain, but no words would come. June glanced her way and tugged Cressida in the direction of the exit. Cressida broke away from her, and Medusa’s heart lifted. In spite of everything, perhaps they could say good-bye, maybe share a hug and throw their arms around each other for one last kiss?

  Fat chance. Cressida ran to Adonis and shoved a pack into his hands. They exchanged a few words before Cressida gestured to her aunt, and they started toward Cerberus’s cave, taking revenge with them. Medusa trailed after them for a few steps, unable to help herself. The vision of her sisters wouldn’t leave her. “Wait,” she whispered. “Please.”

  Cressida turned. “He’s gone.” She breathed so hard her shoulders moved up and down. “Perseus is living his third life.” She lifted her arms, dropped them. “I’m…sorry. You’ll have to find another way to help Stheno and Euryale.”

  The strength went out of Medusa’s legs even as she told herself she couldn’t fall.

  It’s just a setback.

  You’ll find another way.

  There is… You can… We’ll find…

  Nothing. Medusa sagged to the ground. She tried to gulp in air as a shriek built inside her, a noise so loud that even the gods would hear it, but she couldn’t take in any air at all. She doubled over until her forehead touched the cracked pavement. She was dead, petrified as she was, and doomed to stay that way forever.

  *

  It was too hard to watch. Cressida had wanted to hurl Perseus’s news at Medusa and take glee in how much it hurt, but she hadn’t wanted this picture of sorrow. She wouldn’t have wished it on her worst enemy, let alone a woman she’d come to care for, no matter what else had happened between them. As Medusa shook with sobs, Cressida wanted to hold her close and yell at her later.

  “Cressida, come on!” June said.

  Cressida gripped June’s hand, a real, warm hand, and not some fabrication. She should have known that Medea’s illusion wasn’t real. This one talked the right way, acted the right way. She smelled like hand cream and peppermints, June’s smell. She was warm and alive, her presence too much for even the Underworld to dim. When she’d run toward the Elysian gate, she’d been a balm to Cressida’s scattered nerves and runaway emotions. Everything had made sense again.

  Until now. “June, I can’t just leave her.”

  June looked to Medusa, her expression pitying, but she shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  But Cressida and Medusa had shared something. For all the lies, there had been something real between them. She took a step toward Medusa, but June kept hold of her arm.

  “We can ask Nero for advice,” June said, “but for now, we’re going.” She looked into the distance. “You don’t understand, Cressida; we have to go before she comes looking for me.”

  Cressida glanced at her, but she had one of those looks that promised to explain everything once danger was no longer imminent. “But—”

  “Now!” June grabbed Cressida’s other arm, too, as if to drag her away. Her hand brushed the harpe, and she froze, eyes drifting downward and staring at the sword as if caressing it. “What have you got there?”

  “Ah, right. I should leave that behind.” She didn’t know if it was possible to bring back souvenirs from the Underworld, but even if it was, she didn’t know if the world was ready again for a magical sword.

  She unbuckled the belt and wondered where it would be safe, but since only living hands could wield it, she supposed it didn’t matter. “I should give it to Medusa in case—”

  June’s grip locked around her wrist again, but this wasn’t caring Aunt June leading Cressida away from danger. Her face had gone still, serious, the expression she used whenever someone tried to rob or cheat her, when anyone had the mistaken impression that female couldn’t equal dangerous.

  “I know that sword. I used to have something like it.”

  She frowned as if trying to remember, and Cressida thought of June’s collection of antiques and all the pieces that had passed through her hands over the years. There had been a few swords, but not a harpe, not that Cressida remembered.

  A roar from the sky made everyone look up. Cressida thought her mouth couldn’t fall open in surprise ever again, but there it went, well trained by this point. A chariot roared overhead, flames coating the outside of the cart, leaving an afterimage in the gray shade fog. Two small dragons held it aloft, wings flapping, and a wild looking redhead drove them. She leaned far to the right as if searching the ground below.

  Flaming chariot. Dragons. Red hair. “That’s Medea, Aunt June. That’s fucking Medea!”

  But her awe at meeting yet another legendary name fled as she remembered that Medea had been the one to trick her at Medusa’s request, no matter that they’d seemed to turn on each other later.

  With such a powerful player entering the field, Cressida thought it best to take June’s advice and sort everything out later, but June wouldn’t budge. She frowned at Medea as if putting current events together.

  Medea beamed at them. “Now, hero, fulfill your destiny!” She chucked something over the side of the car, sending it whirling toward them in a flash of gold.

  “Look out!” Pylades yelled.

  He pushed forward, and Cressida wondered how Medea had known he’d be there, if she’d set up their meeting somehow. Before she could ask, June shoved both him and Cressida out of the way. Her arm shot out and grabbed the golden thing out of the air. She looped it over her arm, a shield of golden scales with a gorgon’s head, the aegis of Zeus.

  June ran her hand over it lovingly. “I remember.”

  Cressida opened her mouth to ask, but June’s other hand lashed out and drew the harpe in one smooth motion. She gave it a few experimental swings, and even to Cressida’s unpracticed eye, it seemed as if she knew what she was doing.

  “Aunt June?”

  June beamed at her. “Now, in this life, but part of me always remembered who I used to be.”

  “In this life?” Like a reminder reel in a movie, it played in her head: the heroes from the Elysian Fields being resurrected, remembering just enough about themselves to try to earn another place in the Fields, all so they could eventually move on to the Isles of the Blessed. And June was so courageous. She never backed down, always one to run toward danger rather than away from it, and myths were always more real to her than they were to anyone else, so much so that her family worried for her safety.

  Pylades looked at June more closely before smiling. “Hello, Perseus. Fancy meeting you here!”

  *

  Medusa hadn’t realized just how much the idea of revenge meant to her. Even if she never got help, and her sisters continued to fade, she would have kept plodding after revenge like a donkey heading for a mirage. Cressida had been right. It defined her.

  And now revenge was dead, just like her. But Cressida was free from any lies Medusa had told her, free from any obligation she might have felt. She was alive, and she was free, and if Medusa could only get up, there could be truth between them.

  Even curled up in the street, Medusa had felt Cressida’s hesitation; the bright glow of her life burned steadily nearby. Medusa wanted to reach out and bathe in that light, something she hadn’t even realized she would miss when it was gone. But she didn’t move. Cressida would come to her if she called, even after everything. Medusa had seen enough pity in those eyes to know that her pain would be undeniable, so she made it her gift to stay tucked in her misery. June would lead Cressida to safety, and one day Cressida might realize that living her life well was the only thing that mattered, and that she should o
nly give her love to someone who deserved it.

  And no one could say that of the dead.

  Then Medusa heard Medea’s voice and felt a shudder in the air, a ripple of converging events. She raised her head to see what calamity was befalling them this time. The fight had paused; Adonis’s gang were withdrawing. Aix, Arachne, Pandora, and Agamemnon stared into the sky. They gasped as the aegis winged through the air toward an arm that had once wielded it.

  “I knew she looked familiar,” Medusa whispered. She’d thought it was because June and Cressida were so alike, but she and June had met before. Perseus lurked behind the lines of June’s face, behind the feminine slope of her chin, the smaller nose, the muscled curves. His spirit swam inside her, and it had been calling out ever since they’d laid eyes on each other. And now that June’s soul realized who it had once been, it was so clear. Medusa didn’t even need the words of the random hero to confirm it.

  June faced Medusa with a shield adorned with her own head caught in its gorgon form, and this harpe was even more powerful than the one June had wielded as Perseus. She had all the power she’d ever need to reduce Medusa or anyone else to a shade.

  June’s eyes held a hint of callousness she’d lacked before, a trait every ancient hero had to possess in order to undertake the trials of the gods. Still, she didn’t smirk, only blinked at Medusa calmly, neither ashamed nor proud. But of course, Perseus hadn’t killed Medusa because he’d enjoyed it. It had been a task he’d been given, pushed on by the gods, and as a hero of legend, he was as unable to deny that as he was his own heartbeat.

  “Stand away, Cressida,” June said.

  Cressida’s mouth hung open again, but Medusa couldn’t blame her. If she made it back to the mortal world, Medusa doubted anything would ever surprise her again. “Aunt June, please, don’t kill her.”

  Medusa stood slowly. She didn’t know if her powers could still turn a living person to stone, and June had the aegis to hide behind. Still, Medusa clenched her fists and promised every god still in existence that she would go down fighting this time.